A Time for War
by San Antonio Rose
Summary: From Cold Oak to Sunrise, Phase 3 of the Stanford Adventure Club's plan to save Sam Winchester leads through ghost towns and demon fire to the very gates of Hell. But despite their triumphs, Zantabraxus warns that the war's not over yet, and soon the club has a new and deadlier mission - with John Winchester's life in the balance. (AU, gen with background het)
1. Prologue: Maxwell's Silver Hammer

A/N: This story is complete in seven parts; I'll post a chapter a day. It wasn't _actually_ written for Girl Genius Event Week 2018, but it does unintentionally fill most of the prompts!

Many, many thanks to my lovely beta jennytork, who got me unstuck several times and help me unclunk a few sentences.

* * *

A Time for War  
By San Antonio Rose

Prologue  
Maxwell's Silver Hammer

 _July 8, 2006  
Manning, Colorado_

Gordon Walker lowered his machete with a satisfied huff. Killing vampires never got old, especially when they'd just killed an old mentor of his. He wouldn't have called his relationship with Daniel Elkins _close_ —Elkins didn't have friends, and neither did Gordon—but they'd been colleagues and had long pursued the same goal, and Gordon had learned a lot from the old man. Elkins had even called Gordon in to keep a closer eye on the area after John Winchester had gone off the rails at the end of March and committed suicide by cop. Gordon hadn't understood half of Elkins' ravings about Winchester's kids paying him a visit shortly before Christmas, but Elkins' larger point had been that Winchester's death meant that something big was in the wind, and Gordon had understood and agreed with that.

Avenging Elkins' death was only added incentive, however. Gordon would have iced this nest regardless. Killing monsters gave him a thrill like nothing else could.

After catching his breath, Gordon bent to pick up the antique gun the lead vamp had threatened him with, one the vamps had evidently stolen from Elkins. It was an early Colt revolver, he saw, probably 1835 or 1836 given the octagonal barrel and the way the trigger recessed into the handle when the hammer was forward. He carried it over to one of the barn's hanging lamps; in the better light, he could make out the pentagrams carved on the grips and the words " _non timebo mala_ " engraved on the top of the barrel.

His heart raced all the more. This was _the_ Colt, the legendary gun said to kill anything. Short of the Holy Grail and the Holy Lance, the Colt was the most sought-after treasure in the American hunting community—and Elkins had had it all this time. It still had five bullets in the cylinder, too.

Well. Gordon didn't know whether Elkins had left a will, but finders, keepers. The Colt was his now, and he wouldn't be parting with it.

No sooner had he thought that than a blonde in a red vinyl jacket strolled into the barn with five men trailing her. "Well," she said. "Looks like I missed one hell of a party."

"Something I can do for you, miss?" Gordon asked coldly.

"You sure can. Just let me have that gun."

"Why?"

"Oh, no special reason. It's just that my father needs it."

"What's he need it for?"

"That's none of your concern."

"It damn well is my concern. I don't lend my weapons to just anyone."

She laughed. "But I'm not just anyone."

"Who are you, then?"

"Name's Meg."

"Not good enough."

"For you, it is."

"Go to hell."

"No." Meg's eyes flashed black, and Gordon flew across the room and slammed into a post, the impact forcing him to drop the Colt. A split second later, she was standing in front of him, knife in one hand and a stone bowl in the other. " _You_ go to hell." And before he could come up with a retort, she slit his throat.

"You sure that was smart?" one of the other demons asked as the being currently known as Meg gathered Gordon's blood in the bowl.

"'Course it was." Having gotten what she needed, Meg ditched the knife and the corpse, collected the gun, and moved back toward the center of the room. "This many beheadings, nobody's going to look twice at Walker; cops'll just think the killer didn't bother with taking his head all the way off." With that, she uttered the spell to call Azazel.

 _That was fast!_ Azazel answered. _You got the Colt?_

"I sure did, Father," she replied. "Vampires had it, just like you thought. Got here just in time to stop Walker from walking off with it."

 _You sure it's the real thing?_

"Lemme check." She aimed the Colt at one of her subordinates and fired. Sure enough, he lit up with hellfire inside and fell dead. "It works," she reported.

 _Good. Good._ Azazel paused. _Still no sign of Sam Winchester?_

"No, sir. Anything on your end?"

 _No. Zola's being less than helpful, and Lucrezia won't say anything at all. Sinclair's story doesn't make any sense, either—I thought Abaddon killed Henry Winchester, and none of our scouts have reported otherwise._

"And John?"

 _Nothing. He's not down here, and Uriel can't find him, either._

Meg blew the air out of her borrowed cheeks. "What should we do, then? Go ahead with the hits on Jim Murphy and Caleb Hamilton?"

 _No, no, there'd be no point in that now that we have the Colt. Even if John is still alive, chances are killing Murphy and Hamilton would only draw him out, not his boys._ Azazel paused again. _We'll just have to find a way around the Winchesters. I'm still not completely convinced Sam's the right kid anyway. Go ahead and round up the rest of them._

"Wait— _all_ the Special Children?"

 _All the first generation, yes._

"But I thought..."

 _Change of plans. That many disappearances should get the Winchesters' attention. Even if it doesn't, the fact that they've gone to ground means they probably know something they shouldn't know yet about our plans. Do take care of things on Mary's end just in case—we can't risk them learning any more._

"Just her uncles, or the rest of the family as well?"

 _Just the uncles, I think; not likely she would have told any of the other Campbells what happened to her parents. Tie up any loose ends among her friends in Lawrence, too._

"Yes, sir."

 _The faster we move, the less likely it is that they'll be able to stop us before Lord Lucifer returns. Uriel won't be happy we've stepped up the timetable, but I don't think we have much choice._

She nodded slowly. "All right, Father. I'll get right on it."

 _Good girl. I know you won't fail me._ And Azazel ended the call.

As she took a deep breath and let it out again, her brother Tom walked over to her. "He wants 'em all in Cold Oak at once?"

"Yeeep." She handed him the blood phone. "Get on the horn. We've got a long night ahead."


	2. Chapter 1: Too Quiet

Chapter 1  
Too Quiet

 _July 10, 2006  
Lebanon, Kansas_

John Winchester was going stir crazy.

Being cooped up in the Men of Letters bunker was better than prison or Hell. He had to keep reminding himself of that. And prison or Hell was where he'd be right now were it not for Zantabraxus and the fae changeling she'd created to fake his death. After his own pigheadedness had allowed Lucrezia Mongfish to frame him for three murders she'd committed while possessing him, he'd have been lucky to get off with a life sentence. More likely, she would have found a way to force him to trade his life for his sons' lives. He owed his life, their lives, and Mary's resurrected life to the Warrior Queen, which _did_ entitle her to impose a taboo on him. Hell, Zantabraxus would have been well within her rights to cart him off to Fairyland for the rest of time and never let him see his family again, but she hadn't done that, either. All things considered, she'd been downright merciful.

He just... wished she'd chosen something other than keeping him on a short leash like this.

Maybe, after ditching Klaus Wulfenbach as his hunting partner and disappearing on the kids, he'd gotten too used to being alone for life in an underground building with ten other humans, a fae queen, and a lobster to be comfortable. Maybe he'd been hunting too long for confinement to quarters to be bearable. It just galled him to be stuck here, doing nothing but research, even referring the few hunts that crossed his radar to other hunters. (The worst had been the time Sam had had a dream-vision about one of the kids John had been tracking, Max Miller. Zeetha and Jess had practically threatened to hogtie Sam to keep him from taking the case over Dean's objections, and Dean and Mary had made the same threat to John. Theo and Sleipnir DuMedd had volunteered to take the case instead and barely escaped with their lives, but they hadn't been able to stop Max from committing suicide.) The fact that all the kids, including Sam and Dean, called Pops "Henry" and Her Majesty "Zanta" but John and Mary remained "Mr. and Mrs. Winchester" to all but their own four didn't help. Plus, John kept getting into fights, mostly with Sam, sometimes with Mary or Pops—but even Dean was showing an attitude John neither understood nor liked.

Okay, so maybe the Lucrezia fiasco did give the Adventure Club due cause to question John's fitness to command, and maybe he didn't have any right to pull rank on anyone but his own sons. Maybe they did know a hell of a lot more about what was going on than John did now. And the kids, with the occasional exception of Sam, did show him due deference as their elder and as Sam and Dean's father, even though they shut him out of most of the decision-making. It still rankled, and there was no escaping it because his life was forfeit if he left the bunker without Zantabraxus or one of the kids.

This particular morning, John had woken early from a nightmare and not been able to get back to sleep, so he was still lying in bed and stewing when Mary rolled over and kissed his cheek. "Morning, sunshine," she teased.

He grumbled.

"That good, huh?" When he glared at her, she chuckled. "Van should have the coffee ready by now, and I think Jess volunteered to cook breakfast."

"Was that a hint?"

"It was."

He sighed. "All right, I'll make an effort."

"Thank you." She kissed his cheek again and got up, leaving him to follow suit.

Once they were both dressed enough not to embarrass anyone, they made their way to the kitchen, where Van von Mekkhan was just pouring up two mugs of coffee at once. "Good morning!" he called as they walked in. "You're just in time."

"In time for what?" John asked. "Don't smell breakfast."

Van grimaced. "It's been delayed, sorry. Dean got a text from Tarvek, asking for a video meeting in five minutes. Theo said he'd go get doughnuts afterward."

John grunted his understanding and nodded his thanks as Van handed him one mug.

"Any idea what it's about?" Mary asked, accepting the other mug.

Van shook his head. "Dean just said it sounded urgent."

There were voices in the hall just then, but John didn't catch anything they said until Ardsley Wooster stated, "I'll just see if Van—oh, here they are!" and came into the kitchen. "Good morning, Mrs. Winchester, Mr. Winchester. Van, did you—"

"Just did," Van confirmed and turned back to the counter to collect his own coffee.

"Perfect. Tarvek's just remembered he hadn't asked for you to join us but should have," Ardsley told Mary apologetically.

John frowned slightly. "Both of us, or just Mary?"

"Both of you, I believe, sir."

John nodded once and took a long drink of coffee. Damn kids had been limiting his booze consumption, too, to keep him from wandering into a dangerous part of the bunker or leaving before they could stop him. But one thing he had to say for Van: the boy could make a damn good cup of coffee.

"Well, at least we have time to get caffeinated and coherent," Mary said with a chuckle and took a drink from her own mug.

"Sleipnir should have chairs set up," Van noted.

"Right," Ardsley agreed. "Ma'am, sir, if you would?"

They nodded and followed him out to the command center, with Van bringing up the rear. Sure enough, Sleipnir and Jess were arranging the last of a group of chairs in front of the video conferencing screens while Sam and Pops were doing something on the desktop computer, and Dean, Zeetha, Zantabraxus, and Theo were chatting quietly in the library.

"One-minute warning," Sam called over his shoulder.

Ardsley motioned for John and Mary to follow him into the second row of seats; he sat at the right end, John and Mary in the middle, and Van at the left end. Dean, Zeetha, and Pops sat down on the front row, leaving a seat for Sam, and everyone else presumably filled in on the back row.

"And we're live," Sam announced and backed away to sit down as the screen displaying _Mansion is offline_ switched to a feed of a study John had yet to see in person.

"Good morning, Kansas," Tarvek Murphy called and walked into frame.

"Mornin'," Dean called back. "Just you this mornin'?"

Tarvek nodded. "Yes, I've already told Colette and Violetta, and I'll tell Gil and Agatha over breakfast. And with Jo still gone, Ash has been working the late shift at the Roadhouse, so I decided to let him sleep. Doesn't concern him anyway, at least not directly."

"Where is Jo, anyway?"

" _Supposedly_ , she's at college taking summer classes, but Ash dropped some hints the other day that she's actually off hunting somewhere and doesn't want Ellen to know."

John grimaced at that. Jo Harvelle seemed as anxious to get into hunting as Sam had always been to get out of it, and her mother Ellen was trying as hard to keep Jo in school as John would have tried to keep Sam out had Gil Wulfenbach and the Adventure Club not been at Stanford already. Frankly, though, John was on Ellen's side. Jo might be wanting to follow in her father's footsteps, but hunting was no business for a bright young lady like her, especially without a curse hanging over her like the one that dogged the Winchesters.

Pops cleared his throat. "You said you had news, Tarvek?"

Tarvek nodded. "Yeah. I went outside first thing to check messages on my phone, and while I was out there, Gwen Campbell called me."

Mary startled. "Gwen? You—you don't mean—"

"I do. We met her in Lansing last fall; we'd raided the family archive for some information, and she and Mark had some questions for us."

"Gracious." Mary laughed once and shook her head. "I haven't seen Gwen since she was born, and poor little Mark... does he talk at all now?"

"When he feels like it. And he's not so little."

"I can imagine."

"I didn't tell her you're back, by the way. I figured the fewer people who know that, the better."

"Thanks." Mary took a deep breath. "So what did Gwen have to say?"

Tarvek's expression, already fairly sober, turned downright grave. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Mrs. Winchester, but... your uncles Ed and Robert both died within the last thirty-six hours."

Mary gasped, and John put an arm around her shoulders. "No," she breathed. "What... how..."

"Gwen said the official cause of death for both of them is a heart attack."

"But that's impossible!" Sam objected. "Robert was a cardiac surgeon—"

"Wait, wait, Sam," Mary interrupted. "When the demon killed Dad—my dad—the family pulled strings and had the cause of death listed as a heart attack."

John frowned. "You think it was demons?"

"Gwen did," Tarvek answered before Mary could. "And there's more. She said there's been a rash of sudden deaths in and around Lawrence in the same time period: house fires, car crashes, you name it. She didn't recognize all the names, but the ones she did recognize had one thing in common."

"They knew me," Mary surmised quietly. "The demon's killing off anyone who could have known about my deal."

Tarvek nodded. "That's what it looks like."

"What for?" Dean asked. "We already know all about the deal."

"But Azazel does not know that," Zantabraxus pointed out. "Nor can he know what Lucrezia revealed to us about the Apocalypse plan before she was exorcised. He knows only that his traps have failed thus far in their aim and that Sam remains hidden. These deaths are his only means of ensuring that you cannot learn what those people might have known."

Tarvek nodded. "That's what I told Gwen. She promised she'd have the rest of the family go into lockdown mode—not that I think that's likely to help much if their boltholes don't have better security than their archive."

"I _beg_ your pardon?!" Mary protested.

Zeetha turned around. "They're up against a Prince of Hell, not just ordinary stunt demons. Didn't you tell us your father didn't believe a yellow-eyed demon could exist until you tried to stop the deal with Liddy Walsh?"

Mary wilted a little and leaned against John. "That's true. He didn't."

"I did give her the information we had on Azazel," Tarvek reported, "including ways to strengthen the wards against him. She thanked me, but... I don't know if they'll act on it."

"That's their problem, not yours," Pops replied.

John nodded. "Yeah. You've done all you can, Tarvek. Thanks. We'll see if we can get more info on the demons from here."

"Yes, sir," Tarvek acknowledged. "I'm very sorry for your losses, Mrs. Winchester."

Mary nodded and sniffled. "Thank you. I... I appreciate your calling this way."

"We'll let you know if we find anything," Dean added.

"Likewise," Tarvek said. "Anything else?"

"Nah. No news here."

"In that case, I'd better go ahead and sign off. Violetta's making French toast."

John felt a pang at that, but he wasn't sure whether it was jealousy that Tarvek's cousin by blood and sister by adoption got to visit the mysterious mansion in its undisclosed location and he didn't or bemusement at the idea of a girl who'd spent her formative years being trained to kill by Aaron Sturmvoraus and his mob now doing anything so domestic as cooking.

"All right, dude," Dean said and stood. "Later."

" _À bientôt_."* Tarvek walked out of frame at the same time Dean walked over to the computer, and the feed ended.

"We're off," Dean announced a moment later.

Van, Ardsley, the DuMedds, and Zantabraxus tactfully made themselves scarce as John set his and Mary's mugs on the floor and then turned and pulled her into a full hug. His own heart was pounding with rage—if the demons were killing everyone who'd ever known Mary, that probably included his own friends like Mike and Kate Guenther—but as Mary shuddered and cried on his shoulder, he realized that he didn't need a fairy bond to tie him down. Here and now, his wife was alive and needed him.

They had their family, too, he realized as Sam, Zeetha, and Pops turned their chairs around and a soft rolling noise from behind hinted that Jess had rolled her chair forward. As for Dean, he came around to slide into the seat Ardsley had vacated.

"So many..." Mary sobbed. "So many..."

"It's not your fault, Mar," John stated.

"But it _is_. If I hadn't taken the deal..."

" _Mom_ ," Dean interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder. "This whole thing is bigger than us. And you had no way of knowin' this would happen."

"None of us did," Pops agreed. "If we had, we'd have tried to warn people when we were there in March, or had Missouri do it. It's too late for that now. But I think we can all agree on one thing."

John nodded once. "This ends now."

"Damn straight," the boys and Zeetha chorused.

Mary sniffled and turned to hug Dean, who hugged her back as he always did, like she was some kind of porcelain doll, something rare and precious and fragile. Sam, on the other hand, hugged her with an expression that said he was ready to murder every demon who'd made her cry. Then she hugged Pops, Zeetha, and Jess in turn, and John gave her his handkerchief to wipe her face.

"Shall we go get some more coffee, Mary?" Jess offered.

Mary drew a ragged breath and nodded. The whole family stood up at the same time, and Zeetha picked up Mary's mug as Sam and Pops moved out of the way.

Mary sniffled and turned to John. "I'll come help with research in... as-as soon as—"

"Take your time, sweetheart," John replied and kissed her temple. "We've got plenty of help."

Mary nodded. "'Kay. Thanks." Then she turned back and stepped into the side hug Zeetha was offering her, and together they started off toward the kitchen. Jess came around from the other side and fell into step with them, and John watched the three of them go, two blonde heads and one green, a mother taking comfort from her daughters-in-law.

Daughters-in-law. Plural. Three months and change, and John still wasn't used to it. Sometimes, despite having known and worked with Zeetha for four years, he still had trouble remembering Dean was a married man; but he'd thought Sam's introduction of Jess as his wife had been an April Fool's joke until Pops had shown him the marriage certificate. He didn't know why it was so hard to get his head around the fact that there were _seven_ Winchesters now, not just three, but there it was.

"I'll go get your laptop, Dad," Sam volunteered and jogged off toward the bedrooms before John could do more than grimace. John understood _why_ the kids had insisted on giving him that thing—it was easier to do his own research that way, and Ash had even put programs on it for tracking both Azazel and the other kids like Sam—but computers were still the bane of his existence, and getting tutorials on Internet research from _Pops_ , of all people, had only added insult to injury.

Dean, meanwhile, pulled out his cell phone. "I'll call Bobby, see if he can pin down any omen patterns. Might help us head the demons off at the pass."

Pops nodded. "I can—"

"Dean!" Ardsley suddenly called from the library.

"What?" Dean asked and dashed through the doorway to where Ardsley and Van were sitting at the first library table, Pops and John hard on his heels. "Whatcha got?"

"News article from Colorado Springs," Ardsley replied and tilted the screen of his laptop back to let the Winchesters read the headline: _Mass Murder in Manning: Barn found littered with beheaded corpses, police suspect occult ceremony gone wrong_.

"Vamps?"

"That's what it looks like, but it's worse than the headline suggests."

"Move," John ordered, and Ardsley got up to let him sit down and read the article for himself while Dean and Pops read over his shoulder. The fact that the dead vampires had been left for the police to find was partially accounted for by the appearance of Gordon Walker's name in the list of identified victims, although that didn't explain who'd killed him or why one and only one of the victims had been shot rather than beheaded. But then John got to a paragraph that made his blood run cold:

 _The incident comes just one day after the murder of Manning resident Daniel Elkins, who was discovered dead in his home following an apparent burglary. Elkins' safe was found standing open, but police have not yet found an inventory of the safe among his papers. The only thing of value known to have been stolen was an antique pistol..._

He swore. "The Colt. They've got _the Colt_. Elkins had it this whole damn time, and now..." He swore again, more violently.

"John," Pops began.

John rounded on him. "Pops, that gun's the only weapon that can kill Azazel. I've been trying to get hold of it for _months_ , and now—"

" _Dad_ ," Dean interrupted firmly. "It's fake."

"The hell do you mean, it's fake?"

"The gun that got stolen. It's not the real Colt."

John blinked rapidly. "What?"

"It's true, John," Pops said. "The one they stole is a close copy, close enough to fool almost anyone but us. Her Majesty charmed it to be able to kill average monsters and demons, and Zeetha altered its appearance to match the real one."

Dean nodded. "We swapped 'em out in December. Elkins never knew the difference."

John wished he'd had more coffee. "So you're saying..."

"We've got the real one. Four bullets left. It's at the mansion, in the safe."

John groaned and ran both hands over his face. "And I'da known that if I'd returned your call back then."

Pops patted his shoulder. "Well, look on the bright side. Whoever has the fake Colt now can't possibly know that we have the real one. If they want it for protection, it should still work, but if they want it for nefarious purposes, it won't."

John nodded slowly as he thought back over the description of the crime scene in the news report. "Might explain why one victim was shot—trial run. Question is, was he a vamp, or..."

"I'll get the police reports and the coroner's reports," Van said, already typing on his own computer. "Those should have more details about the crime scenes and the victims."

"Look for any mention of sulfur," Pops suggested. "I have a hunch."

"You're thinkin' demons?" Dean asked as John stood to let Ardsley have his seat and computer back.

Pops nodded. "The timing is too close to be wholly coincidental. First Elkins dies and the fake Colt is stolen. Then the beheadings, then the assault on people who knew Mary. My question is _why_."

John hummed thoughtfully. "Walker was a vamp specialist like Elkins. Could be the vamps killed Elkins and Walker killed the vamps."

"And the demons killed Walker and stole the fake Colt?" Dean suggested.

"Could be."

"So what's so important about the Colt that they would go into high gear like this as soon as they got it?"

"That's the $64,000 question."

"There might be something in Colt's journal," said Pops. "Is that microfilm still here?"

"Colette took it to the mansion," Ardsley piped up. "Since we weren't using it and don't have a microfilm machine that we've found yet, she thought it should stay with the Colt."

That threw John off balance again. "What... microfilm?"

Dean nodded. "That's what they were doin' in Michigan."

"Here you go, Dad," Sam called before John could ask any more questions. "Getting anywhere, guys?"

"Maybe," Van replied. "I need some help getting into this system, though."

Sam set John's laptop on the other end of the library table and went around to look at what Van was doing.

"I'll email Tarvek," Pops said. "You go ahead and call Bobby."

"Right," Dean agreed, and the two of them walked back out to the command center.

With a huff, John sat down and turned on his computer. It had just finished booting up when Zeetha brought him a fresh cup of coffee and a doughnut, which improved his mood slightly. He stared at the screen while he ate and considered his research strategy, then opened the Azazel-tracking program. He was disappointed but not surprised when the program found no new updates to offer. Then, mostly out of habit, he pulled up the other tracking program.

And dozens of updates rolled in—almost all of them Missing Persons reports.

"What the..." John murmured and started reading through them.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been at it when a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him. "Got something, honey?" Mary asked hoarsely.

"Maybe," he answered.

She sat down beside him and set up her own computer. "Something I can help with?"

"Yeah. Need Missing Persons, APBs, and BOLOs for kids Sam's age."

"Last thirty-six hours?"

"Make it forty-eight, just to be safe."

"Right."

"I thought the tracking program pulled those records automatically," Theo said, sitting down at the other table.

"It does," John replied, "but only for the kids I know of to track. May be some I haven't found yet for some reason."

"So why are you widening the net?"

John looked up at him. "Every one of the kids I've tracked has disappeared in the last two days."

"Are you serious?" Sam and Dean chorused and came over to see.

"Every last one."

Dean swore. "Sammy—"

"Don't say it, Dean," Sam interrupted, and John thought he heard a faint tremor in Sam's voice. "I know."

There was a pause before Sleipnir said, "Sure and they can't all be like the Miller lad."

"No, but what are the odds any of them even know that demons are real?"

"Slim to none," Ardsley and Van chorused.

Dean sighed. "Bobby said he'd call back when he had somethin'. Maybe that'll tell us where the other kids disappeared to. Nothin' much we can do until then."

"Not on that score," Pops agreed. "What have you found so far, Van?"

"Enough to support your hunch," Van replied. "Judging from the crime scene reports, Elkins had laid salt lines, but whatever killed him crossed those lines and tore out his throat. That's consistent with a vampire attack."

Theo frowned. "How do you know? I mean, I know you're from Transylvania, but I thought Dracula was a myth."

"As envisioned by Bram Stoker and Hollywood, yes. No one's really sure what happened to Prince Vlad Tepes; his grave has never been found, but that isn't proof that he was a vampire. But there... is a _nosferatu_ in Mekkhan. _Ht'rok-din cel Negru_ , he's always called, the Black Heterodyne. He's sealed in the family crypt beneath the temple."

"Sealed?" Mary echoed. "As in buried alive?!"

Van shrugged with an apologetic grimace. "Well, buried undead. Supposedly there's a way for him to keep from starving in there, but I've never asked my father what it is. We all learn the signs of a vampire attack, though, just in case he ever breaks out again."

"Wouldn't it be kinder to just kill him?"

"One doesn't kill the Masters. Especially when they're already dead. The goddess won't hear of it."

Dean cleared his throat. "So you were saying about Elkins?"

"Yes, sorry." Van coughed. "From the photos and the fingerprint evidence, it looks like Elkins had gotten the ersatz Colt out of the safe himself but never fired it, so probably the vampire took it after killing Elkins, and possibly other valuables as well. The police did find a cache of money and silver in the barn, but there's no indication here of where those things might have come from. There were no traces of sulfur found at Elkins' house, but there _were_ traces in the barn, particularly around the gunshot victim and on the pillar behind Walker's body. The police also found a machete with blood from the beheading victims on it and a knife and stone bowl with Walker's blood on them."

"That explains the subhead speculating about an occult ritual," Pops observed. "There _was_ blood magic used, just not of a type the police would recognize."

"There was?" Jess asked, confused.

"Demons use a bowl or chalice of blood to communicate over long distances."

"So lemme get this straight," Dean said. "Vamps kill Elkins; Walker kills the vamps; demon kills Walker and tests the fake Colt on... what, another demon?"

"Sounds like a good guess," John agreed. "Uses Walker's blood to call Azazel; Azazel tells 'em to move fast."

"But we still don't know why or where the kidnap victims are."

"Right. We'll have to see what Bobby—" John was interrupted by Dean's phone ringing.

"Speak o' the devil," Dean quipped, pushed two buttons on his phone, and set it on the table. "Hey, Bobby, you're on speaker."

"Mornin', all," Bobby said. "Well, Dean, I got an answer for ya, but you ain't gonna like it."

"Why? What's the word?"

"The word is _bupkis_."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. Couple cattle mutilations around Lawrence yesterday, like you figured, but since midnight? Nada. Not a single thing in the entire Continental US."

Everyone in the room—which John could now see was everyone but Zantabraxus, and he felt silly for not having noticed when everyone else came in—exchanged looks of surprise.

"But that doesn't make sense," Mary said. "We've found dozens of disappearances. Surely there must be something!"

"You would think," Bobby agreed. "But there ain't. Ain't never seen it this quiet. Tells me somethin's in the wind."

"Yeah, but _what?_ " Theo asked.

"I don't have a damn clue, but—"

Sam suddenly cried out and collapsed to his knees, clutching his head.

"Sammy?!" Dean yelped and knelt next to him as Jess ran around the table to his side.

But Sam didn't seem to notice; his eyes were screwed shut, and his breath was coming in short, harsh pants. "Wha... who's..." he gasped. "Yes... yes, I— _ah!_ ... Ye-... how ma-... okay... okay... we'll be... eight hours... yes..." Then he sighed in relief and sagged against Jess with a groan.

"You all right, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Ye-... no," Sam wheezed.

Jess rubbed his back. "What did you see? Who were you talking to?"

"Name's Andy... Andy Gallagher. He's... he's like me."

Mary looked at John, who nodded.

"Can send visions," Sam went on. "Just found out. Called for help. All the ki-... kidnap vics... they're in Cold Oak."

Bobby swore. "Cold Oak, South Dakota? You sure?"

Sam nodded. "Saw the bell."

"How many vics we talkin'?"

"Fifty, sixty... wasn' sure. Couple are al-... already dead. 'Zazel said... wants 'em to fi-... fight to the death. Las' survivor... gets to leave."

"Sounds like we need all hands on deck," said Pops.

"I agree," said Zantabraxus, walking in from who knew where. "I must remain hidden, but I will help you plan your assault before you go."

"Any families we need to protect, John?" Bobby asked.

"Just one that I know of," John replied. "Last name is Talley." With a click, he pulled up the address and read it off.

"Got it. I'll send Rufus."

"Have him bring the mother and sister to Cold Oak," Zantabraxus ordered. "They will be needed there."

Bobby hesitated a second but replied, "Yes, ma'am."

"I will send word to Klaus and Gilgamesh."

"Yes, ma'am. Only other hunter I can get on notice this short is Ellen Harvelle. Jim's off on a mission trip this week, an' Caleb's tied up with a djinn."

"That will suffice."

"Yes, ma'am. See y'all tonight." And Bobby hung up.

Theo stood. "So you want all of us?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Like Henry said, all hands on deck."

"We'd best arm up, then," Ardsley said, and most of the kids left.

"What about me?" Jess asked. "Zeetha's been training me, but..."

Zantabraxus bent down to put a hand on Sam's head, and his breathing eased. "You should go," she told Jess, "but you need not fight. Those who accept help will need charms against possession and hex bags for protection."

Jess nodded eagerly. "I can make those, sure."

"Our car's warded," Zeetha noted. "But how do we make sure the demons don't come along and flip it?"

"You will establish a defensive perimeter before entering the town," Zantabraxus replied. "It will require the power of nine souls, bound by blood and by love."

"Lemme guess," Sam said, sitting up. "Six Winchesters and three Wulfenbachs."

Zantabraxus smiled. "You are wise, my champion."

Mary gasped. "Six—but if Jess stays in the car—"

Dean chuckled, stood, and clapped John on the shoulder. "Guess this means you and Mom are off the bricks, Dad."

"I guess so," John replied, not at all sure this was the kind of action he'd been itching for.

* * *

.

* * *

* So long


	3. Chapter 2: Cold Oak

Chapter 2  
Cold Oak

 _I sure hope this works_ , Dean thought to Gil through their merge-link as the hunters converged on Cold Oak eight hours later.

 _It ought to_ , Gil thought back. _It's one of Mom's plans._

Dean blinked. _You sayin' somethin' about_ my _plans?_

 _No! I just meant—_

Zeetha's mental laughter interrupted.

 _I'm not actually worried about the_ plan _part of the plan_ , Dean admitted. _I'm worried about misfires._

 _It's not Mom's fault that Sinclair's proposal for warding the bunker didn't include all the wards he put on his own place_ , Zeetha replied, cutting as usual to the heart of the problem better than Dean could. _That won't be a problem here, or else Andy wouldn't have been able to get a message out. Besides, both the spells and the plan actually worked when we took the mansion._

 _Not well enough._ Dean couldn't help remembering Sam and Henry succumbing to Cuthbert Sinclair's will-draining spell, despite the protective charms Zanta had added to their hex bags.

Zeetha leaned against Dean a little more than usual. _Sinclair was a Master of Spells, had been for at_ least _eighty years, and knew a hell of a lot more than a bunch of kids fresh out of college who are just finding out that they've got demon blood._

"Will you please stop worrying, Dean?" Sam asked, rather pointedly keeping his gaze fixed on the view from the front passenger window. "Zanta knows what she's doing."

"I'm worried about keepin' you _alive_ , Sam," Dean returned. "You walk into that town and your invisibility charm fails—"

"This isn't like the mansion."

"Thought you said you couldn't hear us," Zeetha said and gave Sam's ear a playful tweak.

Sam huffed. "Anyway, _your_ invisibility charm didn't fail last time."

"That's 'cause Zanta cast it herself," Dean reminded him. "And it didn't have a time limit."

"Dean," Dad warned from the back seat. "Just get us there."

Dean stifled a sigh. "Yes, sir."

Mom patted his shoulder and went back to stuffing hex bags with Jess.

It was only another five minutes before the hunters' caravan reached the point where the trail to Cold Oak was too narrow to drive down any further. Dean parked, got out, and started counting vehicles. Van, Ardsley, and Henry had ridden with the DuMedds in their Toyota econobox; next came Gil and Agatha's Chevy HHR, the three Murphys in Tarvek's BMW, Bobby's van, Klaus' truck, and Ellen's truck last of all.

He jogged down the line to where Bobby was getting out. "Where's Rufus?"

"'Bout ten minutes behind us," Bobby reported. "He'll get here by the time we need him."

Dean nodded his understanding and shivered despite the heat. Not for nothing was Cold Oak infamous for being the most haunted town in the US. The evil in the atmosphere was palpable—and that was even before he heard someone, or something, scream.

Bobby's hand landed on Dean's shoulder. "Settle down, son. We're all walkin' into this with our eyes wide open, 'specially Sam. We got enough guns to do the job. But you gotta trust what Her Majesty gave you."

Dean nodded and ran a hand over his mouth.

"Ready, Dean?" Klaus asked, walking up to them.

Dean nodded again. "Yes, sir."

"Let's go, then."

Dean took a deep breath and fell into step beside Klaus, who handed him a compass. Gil, Agatha, and Henry fell in behind them as they passed back up the trail, but Mom, Dad, Sam, and Zeetha waited by the car until Dean found his position just off the trail and just past the Impala's back bumper, due east of town. Then, with an exchange of nods, Zeetha teleported to an equidistant point due west, Gil to due north, and Agatha to due south. Klaus and Henry started off to take up their positions at northwest and northeast; Mom and Dad ran around to southwest and southeast. And Sam, holding a bullhorn, walked up the trail to stand beside Dean while Dean threw a shield over the Impala as an added layer of protection for both it and Jess.

It felt like an eternity before Zeetha reported, _We're set._

Dean stuck the compass in his pocket and tugged a little on the brother-bond, and when Sam looked at him, he nodded once. Sam blew the air out of his cheeks, recited the activation spell for the invisibility charm Zanta had given him, and disappeared. When Dean tugged on the brother-bond again, the rapid crunch of running footsteps heralded Sam's dash down the trail and into town. Another eternity passed before something in the air seemed to click into place, and Sam tugged on his end of the brother-bond to let Dean know he was in position.

Dean couldn't hear Sam recite Zanta's Enochian warding spell, but he felt the second it went into effect. Power surged through and around him, and he could just barely see a pale blue-green light flash around the circle anchored by the family and shoot upward into a protective dome covering the town. A split second later, there was another flash at ground level on either side of Dean, which he knew was establishing the lines of a devil's trap. And a second or two after that, he heard Sam's voice shouting an Enochian exorcism over the bullhorn.

There were screams in town—and in the surrounding forest.

"Get under cover!" Dean yelled over his shoulder to the other hunters just as Zeetha appeared beside him, merged with him, and teleported to the center of town, landing beside Sam a second before the invisibility charm turned off. A column of bright blue-green light appeared on the other side of Sam, and as Dean and Zeetha unmerged, so did Gil and Agatha.

"Everyone into the center of town!" Sam ordered through the bullhorn, then set it down by his feet.

There were already a few confused kids walking around on the main street, but more came out of the buildings and congregated in front of the new arrivals, and the remaining hunters herded others from the farther corners of the town. Dean tried to count heads as the murmuring crowd grew, but the front line was about twenty yards away, and people were moving around too much for him to get a good fix on.

 _Only forty_ , Gil reported as Mom and Klaus turned onto the main street and ran down the boardwalk to join the rest of the hunters.

Dean swore mentally.

 _We couldn't have gotten everyone here any faster_ , Zeetha noted. _Don't blame yourself for the ones we couldn't save._

"Good afternoon," Sam began as the last stragglers joined the crowd. "My name's Sam Winchester. I'm like you."

A girl toward the front of the crowd laughed and shook her head. "Like hell you are. The rest of us didn't show up here with an army."

"Not an army," Dean returned. "We're the Stanford Adventure Club, and we're here to take you home."

There was more incredulous laughter at that.

Sam ignored it. "Who's Andy Gallagher?"

A round-faced guy who looked vaguely like a too-tall hobbit in a dark hoodie waved awkwardly and stepped forward with a wry smile. "Um, hi."

"Hi. Mind telling me what's happened since this morning?"

"There've... been some more fights. I've had to defend myself a couple times. It's all... really, really freaky, and I really want to go home now."

Sam nodded and waved Andy forward. Looking relieved, Andy started toward the line of hunters.

"Wait a second," one of the other kids said. "You called in _reinforcements?!_ "

Andy spun to face the accuser, arms wide. "I called for HELP! I don't want to kill anybody; I never have! I don't even know how I managed to connect with Sam—I've never done this before."

"Liar! Cheater!"

Dean still couldn't tell who was yelling, but he raised a shield over Andy just in time to deflect a ball of lightning. At the same time, Agatha stepped forward, caught the ball of lightning with her own power, and hurled it back at the person who'd cast it, killing—him? her? Dean still couldn't see—instantly. A shocked murmur ran through the crowd.

"My name is Agatha," Agatha stated, stepping back into line. "I'm _not_ like you. But Sam and Andy are telling the truth. If you come with us, we'll help you get home and ensure that the demon that brought you here can never find you again."

Andy took a deep breath and started forward again.

But the blond guy Andy had originally been standing next to spoke up. "Wait just a minute, Andy."

Andy rolled his eyes and kept walking. "You're not my boss, dude."

"You take one more step," the blond guy replied in a dangerous tone, prompting Andy to freeze, "and this pretty lady over here gets it right in the head."

Dean heard Mom squeak and turned to see her struggling not to turn her shotgun on herself.

"Weber, what the _hell?_ " Andy gasped.

"Well, I can't let you just leave," Weber replied. "Not without your own twin brother."

"My WHAT?!"

"Trouble is, our powers don't work on each other. But now... now I got me a nice little hostage right here."

"You're insane."

"Am I?" Mom's shotgun rose in spite of her as Weber chuckled. "You and me, we might even manage to win this thing if we work together. So what do you say, hm? Come on back."

Dean threw a shield around Mom's head at the same time Andy shouted "NO!" and sprinted toward the hunters. But the shotgun didn't go off. Instead, Weber let out a distinctive gurgle, and Dean looked back just in time to see Weber collapse with a shuriken buried in his jugular—a shuriken that glinted purple in the late afternoon sun.

"Anybody else got any bright ideas?" Violetta challenged as Andy skidded to a halt behind them and Dean dropped both shields.

The brunette who'd been standing next to Weber clutched her head with a moan. "Ohhh... ohh, my migraine's coming back..."

"It won't work, Ava," Gil stated in that tone that meant his fae sight was working.

The brunette—Ava—froze and stared at Gil. "What?"

"You don't have a migraine. You're trying to summon something."

Ava's stare widened into deer-in-the-headlights shock. Yahtzee.

"It won't work," Gil repeated. "The town's warded now. Demons can't get in."

Ava screamed in rage and lashed out telekinetically but failed to do more to Gil than ruffle his hair. Then she summoned a fireball, but before she could lob it at the hunters, Zeetha shot her. Gil banished the fireball with a wave of his hand before it could burn anybody.

"Look, we're here to help you," Sam insisted. "Come with us if you want to live."

"Listen, man, you don't understand," said a black guy in Army fatigues, walking toward Sam. "The yellow-eyed man said only one of us is getting out of here alive. I wanna believe that you think you can help, but look around you. Do the math. We don't play along, he's gonna kill us all. It's... it's not like I wanna fight you or any of these guys, but—"

He was interrupted by a bark of "Ten _hut!_ " that caused him to halt and snap to wide-eyed attention. "Sound off!" the same voice demanded, and Dean belatedly recognized it as belonging to Klaus.

"Sir! Private Talley, Jacob, sir!" the soldier—Talley—replied automatically.

Klaus stepped forward in full Gunny mode. "Stand down, Talley."

Talley swallowed hard. "Sir, no, sir."

"What the hell do you mean, 'sir, no, sir'? I gave you a direct order, Private!"

"Sir..." Talley was shaking now, but he wasn't backing down. "I got a family, sir. My mom and little sister, they're all I got, sir. And the yellow-eyed man said—"

"That yellow-eyed man doesn't have your family. We do."

Talley blinked rapidly. "Sir?"

"TURNER!" Klaus bellowed without turning around.

"Keep yer shirt on, Gunny!" Rufus called back from somewhere behind the main group of hunters. "We're comin'!"

"Jake?" a woman's voice called. "Jake, honey?"

Hope bloomed on Talley's face, and he stopped shaking. "Mama?"

"Jakey!" a girl's voice called, and then Talley had a crying little sister hugging his waist.

"What... how..."

"Long story," Klaus answered as Mrs. Talley ran up beside him.

"Mr. Turner said you were in trouble," the little sister sobbed. "Please be all right, Jakey!"

There were tears in Talley's eyes now. "I'm—I'm AWOL. Even if I live—"

"We'll get you back to your unit," Klaus promised. "You've only been gone a day. Tell 'em you were kidnapped, and they might not even dock your pay."

Talley looked at his mom and bit his lip.

"Don't make it worse, Jake," Mrs. Talley pleaded. "Let these folks help you, please."

A tear rolled down Talley's cheek as he looked down at his sister, who was still clinging to him.

"Stand down, soldier," Klaus repeated, more gently this time.

Talley drew in a ragged breath and nodded. "Sir, yes, sir."

Klaus clapped Talley on the back, and little sister finally let go to let Talley hug his mom. Rufus then ushered the Talleys back behind the line of hunters.

"That yellow-eyed man you've been seeing in your dreams?" Sam told the rest of the kids. "That's a demon. His name is Azazel; he's one of the Princes of Hell. He killed my mother, and I'm willing to bet he killed a lot of your parents, too."

"Wait," said a girl. "You mean that—that fire in my nursery—"

"The night you turned six months old?"

" _He_ did that?! But... but he said he'd picked me because... because..."

"Probably something about being special, right? Strong, powerful, good leader? That's a lie. He's looking for someone to help him end the world. We're trying to stop him."

A group of three girls looked at each other and started forward anxiously. "Somebody tried to leave yesterday," one of them said. "She was killed before she even made it to the road. How do we know you can really protect us?"

Sam looked her in the eye. "Because I came here of my own free will. If the protection we're offering didn't work, the demons would have kidnapped me just like they kidnapped the rest of you. They didn't because they couldn't find me. And we won't leave the warded area until we make sure they can't find you anymore, either."

"That goes for your mom and sister, too, Jake," Theo said.

"But they know where we live," another of the girls who were walking forward said.

"We've got the resources to help you relocate, if'n it comes to that," said Bobby. "An' we're aimin' to put a stop to this 'fore Azazel can try to come after you again."

"I'd say it's worth a shot," said one of the guys, striding forward past the three girls, who picked up their pace and followed him. When they all crossed the line safely, more plucked up their courage and came forward, until about half of the kids had accepted the offer. The other half inched closer together and continued watching the hunters with a cross between wariness, anger, and contempt.

Once it became apparent that no one else was willing to accept help, Sam said quietly, "Okay, Andy, stay behind me. We're gonna back up a few feet and then lead these guys up the trail to a big black car."

"Big black car, gotcha," Andy answered. "Why?"

"My wife's there with the protection you guys need. And that'll get the girls out of the line of fire."

"Oh, but don't you—I mean—"

"They don't need me for this. Ready?"

"Um. Yeah."

"All right, let's go."

As Sam backed up, Dean and Gil closed ranks in front of him. Van and Ardsley stepped forward between Zeetha and Dad, the DuMedds between Dad and Mom, the Murphys between Agatha and Klaus, and Bobby and Ellen between Klaus and Henry. Further back, Dean could hear murmurs that sounded like Rufus and Talley already ushering the other kids up the trail.

The standoff continued for another moment before one of the remaining boys snorted. "So what now? You just gonna gun us down like we're the Wild Bunch? We ain't even armed!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say _that_ ," Dad replied. "If you weren't sure you had the power to best us even without weapons, and if you weren't prepared to use that power against us, you'd be leaving with the rest of these kids."

"I ain't lettin' no man with a gun tell me what to do!"

"We're not telling you what to do," Tarvek countered. "We're offering you a choice. Come with us and live; stay here and probably die; attack us and definitely die. Whatever incentives Azazel's been offering you if you stay here and fight, rest assured that he's lying. You can't enjoy riches and power once the world ends."

"Especially since you won't even be you by that point," Henry added. "There's a catch in the fine print of this marvelous deal: it ends with you being possessed by Lucifer, the Devil himself. And when Michael kills Lucifer in the final battle, he'll kill you right along with him."

"Which means we're dead no matter what we do," growled a Hispanic boy. "I know what you are, _ese_. You're hunters. You kill anything that's not full human."

"That isn't true," Zeetha replied.

"Diaz?" asked a broad-shouldered boy who looked practically albino next to the Hispanic kid.

The Hispanic kid, whose last name was presumably Diaz, answered in a torrent of rapid Spanish. Dean thought he caught the words " _mi madre_ " and " _bruja_ ," but that was about it. "I'm tellin' you, Mittelmind," Diaz concluded in English. "They want us dead."

"We _don't_ ," Agatha insisted. "We're here to _save_ you."

"Yeah, right," an Italian-looking boy on the other side of Diaz sneered. "Hunters couldn't save my grandmother when an arachne took her."

"Arachne?!" Henry echoed. "Those haven't been seen outside of Crete since the time of Christ!"

"You callin' me a liar?!"

"Mezzasalma," Mittelmind warned. "We're better off sticking together here."

Diaz grumbled something about sociology majors.

Mittelmind ignored him. "We may be outgunned, but we're hardly outnumbered. Together, I think we can take 'em. And Diaz is right. If they know what we can do—what we have done—how easy it is, how good it feels—there's no way they'll let us go."

"Heh," said Diaz with the sort of smile Dean associated with serial killers. "Remember what we did to Zonia last night? How she screamed?"

"Zonia was a fruitcake," Mezzasalma spat, still glaring at Henry. "But nobody who calls me a liar dies that slow."

"I'm not saying you can't kill him," Mittelmind stated in a reasonable tone. "I'm saying you'll get shot if you do it right now."

"You'll get shot if you try it at all," Klaus growled.

"What'd I tell you?" Diaz hollered, turning to the rest of the holdouts. "We're dead, you hear me? DEAD!"

"Not if you surrender now," Dean insisted.

"Oh, we may be goin' to hell," snarled the first kid who'd spoken. "But we're takin' y'all with us!"

With a roar, the holdouts charged—and ten of them fell as soon as the hunters opened fire. The rest took multiple shots to bring down, and even then Mezzasalma tried to shoot lightning at Henry. Dean blocked it with a shield, and it struck a nearby building, which burst into flame briefly before Zeetha could quell it. Tarvek shot Mezzasalma in the head before he could try anything else.

A long, tense moment of wary silence passed after that before Gil relaxed with a huff. "That's it. It's over."

"Best leave 'em be," said Bobby. "We can call the police once we're on the road, have them come clean up the mess, identify the vics. But we best be outta here 'fore nightfall—liable to be after midnight 'fore we get back to my place anyhow."

"This feels too easy," Ellen observed with a shake of her head. "Gil, are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am," Gil replied. "Souls have all left the bodies, and the Reapers are collecting them now."

Violetta jogged over to Weber's corpse to retrieve her shuriken, and Dean picked up the bullhorn with a sigh. He normally didn't mind killing monsters, but these... these had been kids Sam and Agatha could have gone to school with.

 _We saved a third of them_ , Zeetha noted through the merge-link. _We saved_ half _of the ones who were alive when we got here. That's a lot better than none._

Dean shook his head. _They were human, Zee. They were just kids._

 _Kids who'd already embraced the dark side_ , Gil replied. _Kids who'd already developed a taste for killing and torture. You can't help someone who refuses to be helped, Dean. Let's take the win and get out of here before Azazel gets wise._

Dean grimaced and turned to go.

 _Besides_ , Zeetha added, turning with him and throwing an arm around his shoulders, _we got Sam through it in one piece. And Mom's spells didn't fail or misfire._

Dean shot her a sidelong look at the implicit _I told you so_. She smirked. He rolled his eyes and looked around to check on everyone else. Gil and Agatha were having a mental conversation of their own, judging from the blue and green sparkles flashing in their eyes; Agatha looked grumpy, but Dean couldn't overhear to know why. Most of the other couples were holding hands as they walked back up the trail but not looking at each other. Mom and Dad seemed to be having a quiet conversation—well, Dad was nodding slowly, so apparently Mom was doing all the talking. Klaus and Violetta were talking about something, too, until he patted her shoulder and she picked up her pace to catch up with Tarvek and Colette. Then Ellen fell into step beside Klaus, and Bobby steered a queasy-looking Henry over to follow them.

"You doin' okay, Henry?" Dean called.

"I suppose so," Henry replied. "I have seen worse, after all. Thanks for the assist, by the way."

"Hell, what kinda hunter would I be if I let my own grandpa get killed?"

Henry managed a wan smile at that, and Bobby patted Henry's back.

By the time the hunters got back to the cars, Jess was putting the box of hex bags into the Impala's trunk, and Sam and Rufus were discussing who should ride with whom to get as far as Sioux Falls. "Well, we can get Henry in our car if DZ drives," Sam was saying as Dean and Zeetha walked up. "That would leave room for Andy in Theo's car, and then if Gil and Agatha take Jake back to his base right away, nobody has to ride in the back of a truck."

"Makes sense," Rufus agreed with a nod and turned to Gil, Agatha, Dean, and Zeetha. "That all right with you four?"

Dean shrugged. "Okay by us. Gil?"

"Not sure how far we can get carrying an extra person," Gil admitted.

Talley smiled wryly. "Probably not as far as Hawaii."

"Ah, no, Hawaii is a bit out of range."

"Just a bit," Agatha echoed with a chuckle. "Is there a military base anywhere near here?"

"You could try Ellsworth Air Force Base," Bobby suggested. "That's just over in Rapid City. He coulda hitchhiked that far."

"From here?" Talley huffed. "They'll think I'm nuts."

"Not if the civilian authorities confirm that something happened here," Klaus replied. "They'll find your fingerprints somewhere, I'm sure."

"And how the hell will the civilian authorities know?" When Klaus raised an eyebrow, Talley amended, "Sir."

"We'll call it in from the road."

"'Cause Sammy here is a damn good actor," Dean added, slugging Sam's shoulder with a proud smile. "You shoulda seen him in _Our Town_."

Sam grinned and ducked his head.

"Sorry I missed it," Henry said in a tone that made Dean wonder where his head was, whether their earlier exchange had made Henry regret missing not only most of Dad's life but most of Sam's and Dean's as well.

"Well, you'll see this performance," Dean promised. "Is Talley squared away, Jess?"

"We're all good to go," Jess confirmed.

Talley turned to hug his mom and sister goodbye, shook hands with Rufus and Klaus, then turned to Gil and Agatha and squared his shoulders. "I'm ready."

Gil and Agatha each wrapped an arm around the other's waist, put their free hands on Talley's shoulders, and vanished. Dean and Zeetha took advantage of the blue-green flash of their departure to merge without any of the other kids noticing.

"Whoa," said Talley's sister, staring at the space where her brother had been.

"Can we do that?" Andy asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. "I can't. But like Agatha said, they're pretty different."

"I'll say." Andy turned to say something to Dean—and did a triple take upon noticing DZ. "The HELL?!"

DZ smirked. "Surprise."

"What—how did—" Andy spluttered for a moment, pointing here and there as he seemed to put two and two together, then took a deep breath. "Wow. That's trippy."

"You think that's bad," Sam said. "First time Jess and I ever saw them like this was on Halloween. I didn't even recognize them."

Gil and Agatha returned before the conversation could continue. "Left him within sight of the main gate," Gil reported. "Guards probably won't be able to see where he came from."

Klaus nodded once. "Good."

"Let's get this show on the road, then," Rufus said.

Everyone raced to load into the waiting vehicles, and the caravan got turned around and started back toward the road moments before a cloud that looked too dark to be natural rolled down from the north. While Dean focused on keeping the car on the road, Zeetha used their combined voice to utter warding spells that Gil amplified, and a streak of sunlight remained shining on the cars as they raced away from the cursed town. The cloud seemed to be trying to batter the light barrier down, but the demons—if that was what made up the cloud—couldn't get close enough to the vehicles to do any damage. Sam, meanwhile, grabbed a burner phone out of the glove compartment and held it ready to dial.

The second the wheels hit tarmac, Dad said, "Call it in, Sam."

"Yes, sir," Sam replied and dialed 911. Then he took a deep breath, started panting as if he'd run a marathon, and hit Call. He started swearing even before DZ heard the tinny sound of the dispatcher answering. "Uh, S-S-Sam," he stammered when the dispatcher prompted him again. "My name's Sam. I was out here hiking, and I... I found this town—C-Co-Cold Oak, it's called Cold Oak, there's a sign—and there's—there's dead bodies everywhere! ... _No_ , like real dead bodies and blood—no, no, they're still warm! It just happened! Oh my—" He hung up, chucked the phone out the window, and turned to Henry. "How was that?"

"My boy, you're a credit to show business," Henry answered with a small but genuine smile.


	4. Chapter 3: Ashes

Chapter 3  
Ashes

The dark cloud pursued the hunter caravan as far as the highway, but the fact that it didn't continue to follow them toward Sioux Falls didn't give anyone cause to relax. None of the Winchesters felt like talking, and DZ didn't turn on the radio in order to prevent distractions in case of another attack. The hunters stopped for gas and food around nightfall, but even that stop was as brief as possible. It was still after midnight when they rolled into the driveway of Singer Salvage Yard, and most of the passengers had fallen asleep.

"Don't know how in the hell I'm s'posed to fit forty people into my house," Bobby grouched as Dean and Zeetha unmerged and started helping roust passengers out of the van. "Wasn't another safe house any closer to Cold Oak, but..."

"We could stay in town," Dean offered.

Bobby shook his head. "No, we'll work somethin' out. Ain't likely anything can breach the new wards Her Majesty put on the place after that mess with Lucrezia. Motel won't be near as safe. Which reminds me, John," he added as Mom and Dad joined them. "I called the sheriff 'bout these kids, since so many of 'em's been reported missin'. Story we're goin' with is they were kidnapped by some whackadoo cult. Sheriff said she'll be here in ten minutes or so."

Dad nodded slowly. He'd shaved off his beard since March, but that hadn't changed his appearance nearly enough to fool even a moderately attentive peace officer—and Bobby had mentioned in the past that Sheriff Jody Mills was sharper than most. "Think I should hide in the basement?"

"No, gonna have to have some o' these kids bed down on the floor down there, so she might go down to talk to them. But I don't think she'll pay much attention to the workshop."

Dad nodded his agreement and checked his watch, as did Dean. Then discussion turned to who should sleep where and how to get enough groceries to feed all of Bobby's unexpected guests, and that plus the process of getting everybody into the house and starting to clear enough floor space for sleeping consumed most of the next nine minutes. Dean, who was pulling bedding out of the hall closet to hand out for bedrolls, paused to check his watch again and shouted a time warning to Dad, who waved back and went to the workshop with Mom and Klaus in tow.

Exactly one minute later, there was a knock on the front door. Violetta answered it and led a dark-haired, uniformed woman through the crowded hall to the living room, making sure she walked directly under the devil's trap that was still on the ceiling from when Bobby had painted it to trap Lucrezia. The woman didn't even break her stride when she reached the edge of the trap, and Dean relaxed a little and carried his current armload of bedding over to the desk to start sorting through.

"You weren't joking about the college kids, were you, Singer?" the woman asked rhetorically as Bobby came out of the kitchen. "I didn't think you sounded drunk, but I wasn't sure I believed it."

"Thanks for comin' anyway, Sheriff," Bobby replied and shook her hand. "Sorry to get you out so late, but I do appreciate you comin' yourself."

Sheriff Mills shrugged. "Part of the job."

"We've been workin' on gettin' a list of names an' addresses, but I'm sure you'll want to verify with photo ID."

"And get statements from everyone, right. We can work out how to get everyone home in the morning."

"Excuse me, Sheriff," Tarvek interrupted, "but it might be wiser to wait a few days before sending people home, just to be sure the cultists have been apprehended. The kidnappers obviously know where all of these people live, and there's a good chance they'll either strike again or try to eliminate all the witnesses."

Sheriff Mills frowned. "You think they've got that kind of organization?"

"Had to have. How else could they have taken so many kids from all over the country, all at the same time?"

That gave Dean an idea, which he promptly shared with Zeetha and Gil.

 _Could work_ , Zeetha agreed from somewhere upstairs. _Sounds like a job for Henry and Ardsley._

 _We might need Ash and Colette to plant more of a digital trail_ , Gil noted from the kitchen, where he was helping Henry take inventory. _But yeah, I think it's feasible._

As if on cue, Ardsley wandered over to join Bobby's conversation. "Forgive me, Sheriff, but had you heard about the mass murder in Colorado a few days ago?"

Sheriff Mills startled. "Well, yeah. It's been all over the news tonight."

"Manning's not exactly a large town, is it?"

"Not exactly a ghost town, either."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. She _was_ smart.

"Granted," Tarvek said, "but excluding Elkins, the murders occurred in a barn isolated enough that no one would hear anything, and some of the victims had been kidnapped from the surrounding area, right?"

Ardsley nodded. "I suspect there might be evidence at the scenes of these kidnappings"—he gestured around to indicate the kids in the house—"and at Cold Oak that's similar, if not identical, to what was found at that crime scene."

Sheriff Mills raised her chin and paused a moment before replying. "Would you boy detectives mind allowing me to do my job?" she asked irritably, but something about her tone told Dean she'd definitely be considering the theory.

Tarvek and Ardsley both raised their hands in surrender and walked off in opposite directions, and Bobby started talking strategy with Sheriff Mills.

 _Couldn't have done that better ourselves_ , Gil thought, amused.

"Ready with these?" Tarvek asked as he walked over to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean replied. "Takin' this bunch to the basement?"

"If Jess and Colette have the space cleared, yes."

Dean nodded and let Tarvek take half the stack, then bundled up the rest in his own arms and followed Tarvek down the basement stairs.

Once they were out of earshot of any of the kids, Tarvek said quietly, "Haven't had a chance to tell you yet. There are hints in Colt's journal that he was doing _something_ significant near a town called Sunrise, Wyoming, in the late 1850s or early 1860s. He chose his words very carefully, and since we don't have the original, there's no way of testing whether there's anything more explicit hidden between the pages or anything like that. Before we left, though, I asked Ash to look into it. He said he'd call back if he found anything."

Dean frowned as Colette took his armload of bedding. "Sunrise, Wyoming? Never heard of it."

"Not many people have. Agatha couldn't even find anything about it in Sinclair's books before we had to leave. Judging from the end of the journal, though, the reason Colt went back to Connecticut in 1861 was that Sunrise got burned out—possibly by Indians, but more likely by demons."

"He didn't know for sure?"

"No, apparently he was living in a cabin twenty miles out of town. Oh, and one other detail: there was a wannabe hunter in Sunrise. Colt wouldn't give him the time of day until he'd finished whatever he was doing out there, but he did mention a name."

"Oh?"

"'Slick Jim' Elkins."

Dean's eyebrows shot up at that. "Didn't Henry say the Colt had been in the hands of the Elkins family..."

"Since 1861. Yes. Elkins and a woman named Darla managed to survive whatever happened to the town, and Colt said something about giving them the gun when he left because the demons wouldn't expect him to part with it."

"So the demons do want the Colt for some reason."

Tarvek shrugged.

" _Allons-y_ ,"* Colette interrupted firmly. "We have workbenches to move out of the way and materials and weapons to hide before anyone comes down here."

Dean and Tarvek shared a look and got to work.

The DuMedds and the Wulfenbachs also came down at that point, so it took only about half an hour to get the basement presentable enough for overnight. When Colette finally dismissed Dean, he found Sam, Van, and Ardsley still upstairs helping Ellen and Rufus herd cats. Zeetha came down from the guest room and reported that Sheriff Mills, who'd set up shop up there, had gotten about half of the statements she needed so far, so the kids who'd already given their statements were free to go downstairs to sleep, and the Adventure Club was free to organize a Walmart run.

As Van and Ardsley went to start ushering people downstairs and Ellen sent the next kid up to talk to the sheriff, Henry came over waving a clipboard. "We're liable to clean out the store if we buy everything at once. Even just getting enough for overnight is going to be more than one vehicle can hold, I suspect—food, clothes, toiletries, sanitary supplies, medicines..."

"We've got three diabetics who need insulin pretty urgently," Sam noted. "Sheriff Mills already called for a deputy to give them a ride to the hospital."

"Plus three vegetarians and a... vegan?"

"Extreme vegetarian," Dean explained.

"Oh, like George Bernard Shaw."

"I... guess?" Dean looked to Sam for help. He knew the name, and of course he'd read _Pygmalion_ and watched _My Fair Lady_ in high school, but he didn't know anything about Shaw personally.

Sam, misreading the look completely, rolled his eyes.

Gil, Agatha, and Tarvek joined them at that point. "The point is," Gil said, "that Bobby doesn't even have enough food for our families, let alone everyone else. Theo's gone to volunteer to drive the diabetics to the hospital and meet the deputy there, and Van, Ardsley, and the girls are still busy downstairs. The rest of us need to divvy up the list and figure out what we need soonest, what we _can_ get at this time of night, and how many of us it's going to take to get those things in one trip without raising any suspicions."

"Good excuse to get Mom and Dad out of sight," Dean noted.

Sam frowned. "They don't have any credit cards, remember? We had to cancel all of Dad's after his so-called suicide."

"Yeah, but they can help carry stuff."

Sam conceded with a tilt of the head.

"It might be easier to discuss this outside," Tarvek observed as Theo and his passengers pushed past.

Agatha nodded. "You guys get your parents and Uncle Klaus. We'll meet you by the cars."

Dean nodded back and looked at Sam, who followed him out the back door and to the workshop. "It's us," Dean announced as the brothers rounded the blind side of the workshop at the same time Theo drove off.

"Boys," Dad acknowledged. "Was that the sheriff who just left?"

"No, not yet. Theo had to take a couple kids to the hospital." When Klaus shifted in alarm, Dean added, "For _meds_. Nobody's fighting."

Klaus huffed in relief and relaxed.

"We're about to head to Walmart," Sam explained. "Wondered if you'd want to come with us."

Dad grimaced. "Could be recognized."

"It's not likely at this hour," Mom countered, "and it would be a better use of our time than standing around out here with nothing to do but tell war stories."

Dad huffed but didn't argue.

"I'll see you there," said Klaus and walked off toward the cars.

Sam and Dean turned to follow, but Mom said, "Boys—Sam—before we go, we wanted to talk to you privately for a moment."

The brothers looked at each other and turned back. "Sure, Mom," Sam replied. "What's up?"

Mom nudged Dad, who said, "Next time, don't wait so long to get the civilians out of range."

Sam bristled.

"What your father _means_ ," Mom said with a quick sideways glare at Dad, "is that we're very proud of the way you handled the situation. You did everything you could to keep everyone calm, and you didn't reach for a weapon even when you were attacked."

Sam shot Dean a brief look of surprise and took a deep breath. "I trusted my family to have my back."

Dad bristled at that.

"As well you should," Mom replied and looked at Dean. "I don't think I've thanked you for the help when that boy tried to make me shoot myself."

Dean ducked his head. "It was Violetta who killed him."

"But if she hadn't, that shield would have saved my life."

But Dean knew what Dad would say. "I shoulda been faster. Shoulda been the first thing I did."

Mom's glare at Dad wasn't fleeting this time.

And Dad sighed. "No, Dean, I should have shot him myself. If you'd acted sooner, you would only have given away the fact that she meant something to you, and the others would have singled her out to attack to make us back down."

Knowing that was the closest thing to praise he'd ever get from Dad, Dean nodded. "Yes, sir."

Before the conversation could continue, however, Dean's phone rang. To his surprise, the display showed the number for the Roadhouse. He sent an attention-getting signal to the twins, who jogged over with Agatha and Tarvek in tow, and answered.

"Dean?" Ash asked quietly, like he didn't want to be overheard but hadn't expected Dean to answer.

"Yeah, Ash. 'Sup?"

"Oh." Ash swore. "Sorry, thought I's callin' Tarvek."

"It's fine. Tarvek's right here. Whatcha got?"

"Somethin' huge, _compadre_. He was right."

"Hold on, lemme put you on speaker."

"No. No, I cain't... cain't tell you on the phone. How soon can you get here?"

Dean blinked. "Dude, we've been drivin' all day. Even if we left now, it's at least five hours from Bobby's."

"Five hours," Ash repeated nervously. "Five hours. Okay, okay... 's only an hour to closin'..."

Dean huffed. "Just close early, go down in the panic room, and call back. We're at _Bobby's_. Zanta warded this place tighter'n Fort Knox after they got Lucrezia trapped."

"I _cain't talk_ _on_ _this line_ , Dean! I's a damn fool for startin' the research above ground in the first—" Ash suddenly broke off with a curse and a rattle of metal.

"Ash?"

There was a _whompf_ —screams—a clang—the _thock_ of a sliding bolt being thrown—static—

"ASH?!"

The line went dead.

Dean looked in horror at Gil and Zeetha, who looked just as horrified. They'd heard; of course they'd heard.

"We'll get there faster merged," said Gil and handed his keys to Tarvek.

But before Dean could agree, Agatha raised a finger to him and her phone to her ear. He tossed his keys to Sam as she said, "Uncle Barry? ... Sorry to wake you. ... We may be stopping by in the next hour. You probably won't hear us come in. ... Okay, just wanted to let you know. Love you." She hung up, pocketed her phone, and nodded to Dean as she lowered her finger.

"Say that again?" Dean prompted.

"We'll get there faster merged," Gil repeated.

"Yes."

Dean barely had time to be surprised that Gil and Agatha didn't merge with each other first before they and Zeetha were slamming into him, his body shifting and stretching more than usual to accommodate the mass of two extra people. He barely had time to register that he wasn't in the driver's seat of the Impala-shaped vessel space this time before they were outside the Roadhouse.

And the Roadhouse was burning.

Dean swore, but in the driver's seat, Gil already had the CB mike in his hand and was shouting Enochian spells with their shared voice. One sounded like a protection spell; one Dean recognized as an exorcism. Then Gil handed the mike to Agatha, and while Gil and Zeetha started wielding their elemental powers against the fire, Agatha chanted something else that wasn't even Enochian. With a loud clap of thunder, rain started pouring on the building and the parking lot, extinguishing flames and healing the burns of the people who'd managed to make it out alive. But the fire seemed to be fighting back, and part of the roof collapsed.

 _It's demon fire_ , Zeetha explained before Dean could ask. _And the alcohol's fueling it. Agatha—_

Agatha pressed the button on the mike again and chanted in Latin. This time Dean recognized it vaguely as the exorcism of water that was used to make holy water. The fire roared like a living thing as the blessed rain beat down on it and the twins' power forced it into a more contained area, yet slowly but surely, they succeeded in putting it out. An extra downburst ensured that any remaining hotspots were well doused and wouldn't rekindle the flames.

 _You see Ash anywhere?_ Dean asked as Agatha handed the mike back to Gil.

Gil shook his head. _No._

 _It sounded like he'd jumped into the panic room_ , Zeetha noted.

Dean nodded once. _All right, move._

Faster than a blink of an eye, Dean and Gil switched positions. Dean threw a shield around them, put their body in gear, and charged into the smoking ruin of the bar, calling for Ash. There were no bodies in the main room; apparently all the patrons had still been sober enough to run, which was surprising at this hour. But there was no sign of Ash until they finally reached the entrance to the panic room, which was hidden in a storeroom. The heavily-warded padlock was open, but the iron hatch itself was shut, and when Dean tugged on it experimentally, it rattled but wouldn't open.

"Ash?" he called, but there was no answer.

 _Well, at least we know he made it this far_ , Gil noted. _Can we pass the wards without opening the hatch?_

"Yeah, I think so."

Dean relocked the hatch with the padlock and jumped straight down into the panic room, which was hot and somewhat smoky, though less so than the rest of the building. The PC workstation Ash had set up for video conferencing and administering the Adventure Club's private network was off, and Dean couldn't tell whether it had sustained any heat damage. But Ash himself, clutching a stack of papers to his chest, had collapsed in front of a second hatch that Dean assumed led down to a server room; with or without a separate air conditioner, the mere fact that that room was further underground would mean it would be cooler. Ash's skin looked beet red, and he wasn't sweating, but the papers were rising and falling slightly, and behind them Dean could just barely make out the glow of Ash's soul.

 _He's alive_ , Zeetha gasped.

"Gotta get him outta here," Dean replied, gingerly gathered their unconscious friend into their arms, and jumped again to the Wulfenbachs' house in town, landing in the den and settling Ash on the couch.

Then and only then did the four of them unmerge.

"Why here?" Zeetha asked and turned on the lights with a wave of her hand.

"Closest to the kitchen," Dean replied, sliding the papers out of Ash's grasp and setting them on the coffee table. "We can start icin' 'im down now while Ags gets an ice bath—"

"What happened?" a pajama-clad Barry Heterodyne demanded from the doorway.

"Heat stroke," Gil explained, ripping open Ash's shirt.

"Move."

Dean and Gil barely had time to step back before Barry was kneeling in front of the couch, eyes and hands glowing blue. He put one hand on Ash's chest and one behind Ash's neck, closed his eyes, and began to hum. The redness slowly leached out of Ash's skin and into Barry's hands; Ash's breathing slowed and deepened, and the fine sweat of a broken fever broke out on his face and chest. Agatha ran to the kitchen for a wet washrag, and by the time she got back with it, Ash was stirring a little with a slight groan.

"Easy, Ash," Agatha whispered, kneeling beside Barry to wash Ash's face. "Just take it easy. You'll be all right."

Zeetha jogged off toward the kitchen herself.

"Whrr'm Ah?" Ash mumbled hoarsely, frowning a little but not yet opening his eyes.

"You're at our place," Gil replied.

The frown deepened. "Wolfman?"

"Yeah, dude."

"Wh'zat noise?"

"That's my Uncle Barry," Agatha explained. "He's healing you. I think he's almost finished."

Barry stopped humming and slumped against the coffee table, panting. "That's... about all I can do, anyway. He's out of danger."

Zeetha came back with two bottles of cold Gatorade. One she opened and handed to Barry, who nodded his thanks. "Think you can drink something, Ash?" she asked, opening the other bottle.

"'Sit PBR?" Ash asked.

"Not until you're recovered. Alcohol would only dehydrate you worse."

Ash grumbled under his breath. But Gil and Agatha eased him more upright, and Agatha took the Gatorade from Zeetha and helped Ash drink a little. Zeetha in turn took the rag, pulled the long part of Ash's mullet out of the way, and started washing the back of his neck—and his chin when he choked on too big a sip and some of the liquid spilled past his lips when he coughed.

"Take it slow, dude," Dean said. "That was a damn close call."

Barry swallowed his own mouthful of Gatorade and nodded. "Too close. Your core temp was over 105°. You were minutes away from irreversible brain damage."

Ash swore quietly.

"What was it you did, Uncle Barry?" Gil asked as Barry took another drink.

Barry smiled wanly. "Heat sink. Water's got a high specific heat; I can draw off a fever without overheating too much myself."

Dean's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "D'you learn that from..." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of Cuthbert Sinclair's mansion.

Barry shook his head. "In the hospital. Sun figured it would help me recover faster to find ways to use my powers to help people."

Ash swallowed another sip, coughed, and asked, "Papers?"

"We got 'em," Dean assured him.

"Roadhouse?"

"We got the fire out. Everybody else made it out alive. Lot of damage, but the building's still standing."

Ash sighed and relaxed, then started coughing again, more deeply.

"Here," Gil said and put one hand, glowing green, on Ash's chest.

Ash coughed, gagged, and spat a huge glob of black ooze into the trash can that Agatha held up for him. "What was that?" he gasped.

"The smoke you inhaled," Gil replied. "You should be breathing easier in a few seconds."

Ash hauled in a few deeper breaths, relaxed again, and finally opened his eyes to look around at them. "Thanks, y'all."

"Anytime," the Winchesters and Wulfenbachs chorused, and Gil took his hand off Ash's chest.

Then Zeetha looked at Dean and pulled out her cell phone. "I should call Ellen."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, and I should call Sam."

"Guess that leaves me to call Bobby and Dad," Gil said.

Dean nodded again, and the three of them went from the den to the kitchen, where Zeetha tossed the rag into the sink, and spread out from there into adjoining rooms to make their calls and bring everyone up to speed. Sam reported that Colette, Violetta, Jess, and the DuMedds had volunteered to stay behind and help Bobby and Rufus with the rescuees, but everyone else was already en route to Beetleburg, with Tarvek driving Gil's car for reasons Dean couldn't fathom.

Ash and Barry both looked better when Dean and the twins came back into the den. "So, Ash," Dean said. "Why don't you tell us what you found?"

Ash shook his head. "Ain't safe."

"Dude, this house is warded to the roof."

"So's the Roadhouse. 'Sides, I ain't up to tellin' it more'n once."

"Ash..."

"Dean, I ain't tellin' nothin' to nobody 'cept in front of Her Majesty."

Dean and Gil exchanged a look. "You want us to bring Mom here," Gil asked, "or you want us to take you to the bunker?"

"Bunker," Ash said firmly. "No offense, amigo, but I don't wanna get your house burned down, too."

Dean and Gil exchanged another look and sighed heavily at the same time. They were all more tired than they wanted to admit, but Ash did have a point.

"They'll be here by dawn," Agatha noted.

"Yeah," Gil said, "but four hours is a long time, and anything could happen on the road between there and here or between here and the bunker. Full moon, after all; can't take chances. We can let Ash sleep in the infirmary for tonight."

Agatha conceded with a grimace and turned to Barry while Zeetha handed the papers back to Ash. "Sorry it was this sort of visit, Uncle Barry," Agatha said and hugged him.

"That's all right, sweetheart," Barry replied, returning the hug. "Glad I was able to help, and it was good to see you."

"I'll call you when I can."

"Sounds good. Be safe."

"You, too."

Dean quickly called Sam to let him know of the change in plan, and Sam promised to relay it to the rest of the caravan.

"Ready?" Gil asked as Dean hung up.

Dean slid his phone into his pocket, took a deep breath, let it out again, and nodded. "Yes."

The merge didn't feel quite so violent this time, and it was only a matter of seconds before he was looking down at a wide-eyed Ash and Barry.

"That is freaky," Ash drawled.

"Get used to it," Dean shot back. Then he scooped Ash up again, nodded to Barry, and jumped back to the bunker's front door.

Only then did he remember that Sam had his keys.

 _I'll get it_ , Agatha offered, and they unmerged, leaving Dean and Gil carrying Ash between them while Agatha unlocked the door and Zeetha brought up the rear.

"You sure I ain't hallucinatin'?" Ash asked as Dean and Gil carted him inside.

"Positive," they chorused.

As Zeetha went to debrief to Zanta, Dean and Gil hauled Ash down to the infirmary, where Agatha got him set up with an IV saline drip. Then she hugged Dean and shooed him out with strict orders to go sleep, and he was halfway back to his and Zeetha's room when Zeetha caught up with him.

"Mom's gone to check on Barry," she announced. "How's Ash?"

"Got him settled," he answered. "Got him on an IV. Should be okay in the morning."

She nodded and hugged him. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"What for?" he asked, leaning into the hug. "Didn't do much. Was all you three."

She shook her head. "Couldn't have done it without you. Merge makes us all much stronger; our souls augment each other. Without you as the vessel... we never would have made it to Ash in time, and we couldn't have put the fire out any better than we did Brady's. And you _did_ get us into the panic room."

He sighed a little and accepted that as best he could. _Still didn't feel like much._

 _Maybe not_ , she replied through the merge-link. _But no matter what it felt like, it was everything. Ash is alive because of you, Dean._

That was easier to accept, and he nodded.

She rubbed his back. "C'mon. Let's get some sleep while we can."

He nodded again and let her steer him into their room, but he barely managed to get his boots off before sleep overtook him.

It felt like only minutes later when voices in the hall woke Dean. He frowned a little. _What..._

 _They're back_ , Zeetha replied groggily.

 _What time is it?_

He felt her shift to look at the clock. _Quarter past eight._

He groaned.

 _I know. Me, too._ She burrowed back under the covers.

But before they could fall back asleep, there was a knock at the door, followed by it opening with a quiet "Dean?"

Dean sighed heavily. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam came further into the room. "Sorry to get you up, but Ellen has to go right back to Beetleburg to meet with the police about the fire, and she wants to take Ash with her, so..."

Dean and Zeetha both groaned this time but sat up. "How's Ash?" Zeetha asked.

"Better," Sam reported. "Still pretty weak, but Gil said they got two bags of saline solution into him. His temperature's back to normal, and he's able to drink on his own. They're gonna stay with the Clays until the Roadhouse is rebuilt. Klaus and Zanta are at the mansion; she should be back before long."

Dean nodded. "Good. Good. Heard from Jess?"

"Called her as soon as we got in. She said a lot of the kids had nightmares last night—Azazel's still trying to get them to fight each other."

Zeetha swore quietly.

"Yeah. Good news is, none of them actually remembered where they were, so Azazel hasn't found them yet."

That was all the incentive Dean needed to push himself to his feet. "Okay. Sooner we do this, the sooner we gank Azazel, the sooner they can go back to livin' a normal life, and the sooner Bobby gets his house back."

Sam chuckled. "Van's started coffee, and Ardsley said he'd do breakfast this morning."

"Please tell me that doesn't mean full English," Zeetha said. "The only beans I want at this hour are chocolate-covered espresso beans."

"We're out of both," Sam deadpanned.

Dean snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon."

Sam ushered them out to the command center, where Agatha was settling Ash in a rolling chair at the map table and Ellen was fussing at him to drink the orange juice she was trying to hand him. Mom, Dad, and Henry were arranging other chairs around the map table, and Tarvek was doing something with the video conferencing workstation that brought up a map on one of the big screens.

"You're not my real mother!" Ash protested.

"That is beside the point and you know it," Ellen retorted. "I _am_ your boss, and if you value your job..."

"You do need the sugar, Ash," Mom noted. "Ringer's lactate replenishes electrolytes, but I'm sure it's been quite a while since you ate last."

"So why can't I have coffee?" Ash asked.

"Caffeine is a diuretic," Mom, Ellen, and Agatha chorused, and Ellen put the orange juice in front of Ash and folded her arms.

"Just drink the damn juice, Ash," Dean grumbled.

Ash sighed and drank the juice.

Once the glass was empty, Tarvek brought Ash the wireless mouse. "Okay, I think this will do what you wanted."

Ash experimented with moving the mouse first normally, then with the left button held down to draw squiggles with some sort of drawing tool, then right clicked to clear the squiggles and nodded in satisfaction. "Thanks, man."

Gil, Van, and Ardsley came in at that point with what Ardsley insisted was a tea trolley, loaded with coffee and plates of toast, fried eggs, and bacon, plus a bottle of water for Ash. Ellen quickly made Ash a bacon sandwich that he ate while everyone else served themselves, and he was finished and ready to present by the time the rest of the group was seated.

"Okay, so," Ash began. "Tarvek asked me to check satellite photos to see if I could find what he thought Sam Colt had been doin' out in Wyoming. First thing I found was what looks like the remains of Sunrise here." He circled the place on the map with the mouse. "'Bout seventy miles northwest o' there is an old cowboy cemetery." He circled a point already marked on the digital map as _Fossil Butte Cemetery_. "Fifty miles on all sides o' that cemetery are five churches." These he marked with Xs. "An' between those churches, there's a set o' private rail lines." He traced those lines with the mouse, and although his drawing was shaky, the shape was still plain enough: a five-pointed star.

"A devil's trap," Sam observed.

"Got it in one."

Dean frowned. "Was Colt trying to keep demons out or something else in?"

"That was my question," Ash replied and leaned back in his chair. "So I asked some o' the old-timers last night what they'd heard about Fossil Butte. Turns out, the answer is both."

"Why? What's in the cemetery?"

"Dead center, there's a crypt—only the story is, that ain't no crypt. They called it the Devil's Gate."

Gil straightened and looked at Tarvek. "Devil's Gate—wasn't there something in Colt's journal about that?"

Tarvek nodded. "Wish I'd brought it with me. There was a diagram of some kind of locking mechanism, and he said... what was it? 'The only key I trust with my life, for it brings only death to demons.' Or something like that."

Dean sat forward. "What did the keyhole look like?"

Tarvek closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought, but Agatha answered, "The shape was regular except for a notch at the top. It was round, but the outside was octagonal, almost like..."

"Like this?" Zanta asked, appearing at the head of the table with the Colt in her outstretched hands.

"Of course," Sam breathed. "That's why the plan had to go into overdrive once the demons had the fake Colt but not me. If those rail lines are still intact..."

"It stands to reason," Dad said. "Never heard of any demonic activity in that area. Have you, Ellen?"

Ellen shook her head. "Not a thing."

Gil looked up at Zanta as she handed the Colt to Dean. "That's why you had Dad go to the mansion with you, isn't it? The safe's charmed to open only to a human's touch."

Zanta smiled a little and nodded once. "Yes, my son."

"So Azazel's doing the same thing," Henry said. "A full-blooded demon can't cross those rail lines to get anywhere near Fossil Butte."

Sam nodded. "But a human infected with demon blood _can_ , and the blood gives Azazel extra leverage on top of whatever promises or threats he might make. So the problem now is how to stop him from getting one of the other kids to carry out his orders, whether the rest survive or not."

"Agreed. The gun he has shouldn't open the Devil's Gate, but we can't afford to let him figure that out. If he concludes that we have the real one, he's likely to start killing again to draw us out."

Tarvek nodded slowly, took a deep breath, and leaned back. "I think I've got a plan."

* * *

.

* * *

* Let's go


	5. Chapter 4: Sunrise

Chapter 4  
Sunrise

John hated Tarvek's plan, even two hours later, when he was standing next to the Impala waiting on the boys. He'd said so at the time, loudly, and so had Dean and Mary. But nobody had any better ideas, and time was of the essence; if they didn't get this thing resolved by tonight, one of those kids at Bobby's was liable to crack under the pressure Azazel was putting on them. It was a miracle more of them hadn't cracked already.

 _"They're afraid of their powers," Mary had said while they'd been talking with Klaus the night before. "They're afraid of each other and of themselves, now that they've seen firsthand what they could all turn into. Even Jake Talley, who already knows how to kill—he didn't_ want _to kill civilians, but he didn't think he had any choice. If the demon had kept threatening his family, how long would it have been before he'd turn?"_

 _Klaus had nodded. "Demons exploit fear. And the Mittelmind boy said using their powers was easy. Odds are, if they lived long enough and stopped fighting it... any of them would turn out like that."_

 _"Sam wouldn't stop fighting, though. Not for those reasons."_

 _"Sam's afraid, too," John had returned. "Whatever happened at our old house..."_

 _"He nearly killed the poltergeist," Mary had explained. "He couldn't quite, but he did manage to contain it until Zeetha called Zantabraxus to finish it off."_

 _"Well, it spooked him."_

 _"Honey, something like that would spook anybody. But you two, Dean and Gil, Bobby, Jim... you raised him to know right from wrong. Plus, he knows and hates where the powers come from. The demon would have to work overtime to get Sam to turn—in fact, I don't think anything short of Dean's death would be enough. Killing the rest of us might get him close, but Dean is his anchor, just as Sam is Dean's. You might even say they keep each other human."_

That last comment hadn't given John nearly as much pause at the time as it did now. He'd seen Dean and Zeetha merge before, but never the giant that emerged when Gil and Agatha joined them. The four-way hybrid had stood about eight feet tall, if John remembered right, and wings of light had flared out of its back briefly before the form settled and it disappeared. While he hadn't gotten more than a brief glimpse of the creature's hair, there had been only streaks of green amid the more normal shades of brown and blonde; but the eyes had been obscured by blue-green light, and the face... the face had been unrecognizable. Until Dean had called Sam about an hour later, John had been terrified that he'd lost his son for good—and even then, he hadn't fully believed that Dean was himself again until Dean and Zeetha had followed Sam into the command center.

John had always feared that Sam's being demon-touched would end in his becoming an inhuman monster. He'd never dreamed that being fae-touched could have the same effect on Dean.

But Sam? Even after seeing Dean's transformation, Sam had been more worried about Ash. Dean had done this before, he'd said, and none of them had been any the worse for wear for it. And when John had pressed, Sam had exploded. _"See, Dad? This is why we can't tell you anything anymore. You always get paranoid about exactly the wrong thing._ Dean _is fine._ Ash _could be dead. Why aren't you freaked out about THAT?!"_

 _"How do you_ know _Dean is fine?" John had challenged._

 _Sam had huffed. "Don't I_ always _know when something's wrong with Dean? Doesn't he_ always _know when something's wrong with me? And when's the last time you actually cared, anyway?"_

 _John's retort was cut off by Pops' hand on his shoulder. "Let it go, John. Your sons are grown men. You have to trust them to look after each other."_

Neither of them had mentioned the attack on Jess that John hadn't heard about until April because he'd been resolutely keeping his distance, trying to keep the demons away from the boys in a way that led him straight into Lucrezia's trap while they kept themselves safe, and saved Jess, perfectly well without him. Nor had Sam brought up the birth of the Adventure Club, when Gil had saved Dean's life after a skinwalker hunt went wrong and John hadn't even returned Colette's call because he'd thought it was a college prank until, two months later, he'd finally seen the scar that scored Dean's left side from armpit to hip. Sam hadn't had to say any of those things. Mary's glare had said more than enough.

For some reason, John couldn't stop thinking about John Wayne as Lane in _The Train Robbers_ , after admitting he was wrong and apologizing to Calhoun for hitting him: _A man gets older, it's harder to say that. He tries to bull his way through._ John knew all too well how true that was—and it wasn't just _I'm sorry_ that was almost impossible to say now. It had been easy enough for him to brag on the boys' performance in Cold Oak to Mary and Klaus last night, so why the hell had his first words to Sam on the subject been critical? And why the hell had Dean's reflex reaction been to deflect Mary's praise and blame himself for things even John couldn't have done better?

Truth was, John had gotten a whole hell of a lot wrong, and not just in the last year. Last night had brought that home with a stiletto-sharp point. He knew the boys deserved an apology; he knew they deserved to hear him say outright he was proud of them. The trouble was... he didn't know how to say it in a way they would believe after all these years.

And he was out of time to figure it out, at least for this moment. He could hear their voices echoing up the stairs—only Sam and Dean, no one else. He had just enough time to brace himself for a fight before they reached the garage and stopped short, frowning. Sam had a satchel over his shoulder; Dean was in the middle of shrugging on an overshirt to hide the shoulder holster that held the Colt.

"Where do you think _you're_ going?" Dean growled.

"With you," John answered.

"Like hell you are. We're not riskin' anyone's lives except Sammy's and mine."

"I'm not risking my life or yours. I'm driving."

"Dad—"

"Dean, how much sleep did you get last night? Four hours? Six?"

"I got enough."

"And you, Sam, did you sleep at all between Cold Oak and Sioux Falls? Because I know you haven't slept since then. You drove all the way back."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dad, we can't wait until we've had our beauty sleep."

"I know that. But this plan cannot succeed if you fall asleep at the wheel and run yourselves into a ditch halfway between here and Sunrise. I've had more sleep than both of you put together. I'm in better shape to drive. Besides, if you think I'm going to sit here twiddling my thumbs while you take out Azazel..."

The boys looked at each other, and Sam huffed. "I forgot something. Be right back." And he jogged down the stairs again.

Dean, on the other hand, finished pulling on his overshirt and advanced toward John, still frowning. "This is _our_ hunt. Sam's and mine. You stay the hell out of the way and keep your mouth shut. You say one word, and you could blow the whole thing sky high and get us _all_ killed."

"You think I don't know that?" John snapped.

"I think you don't trust us. I think you don't believe I'll actually have Sammy's back. I think you're still seein' the time I messed up and almost let that shtriga get him."

"Dean..."

"Yes, I am the one that let the damn thing get away, but I'm not ten years old anymore, Dad! I know what Azazel is capable of. I know what he wants Sam for. We've got a plan worked out, and I'm not letting Sam out of my sight once he starts the summoning. But I can't do that and look out for you at the same time."

John sighed. "All _right_. All right, I'll... I'll stay in the car, out of sight."

Dean huffed. "Well, we can't leave you in Laramie without Zeetha or Gil, so..."

Before John could protest that he didn't need a babysitter, Sam returned with an armload of pillows and blankets. "Zanta sent these," he announced, handing a pillow and a blanket to Dean. "And if we're not all under one roof, Dad has to stay within sight of us."

Dean turned back to John with his eyebrows raised in challenge— _Well?_

John nodded once. "If that's what it takes to let me keep you from driving into a tree..."

The boys rolled their eyes in tandem and got in the car, Sam in the back seat, Dean in shotgun. When John got in the driver's seat, Dean handed over his keys. By the time John got the engine started, the boys each had their heads on a pillow and a blanket over their shoulders, and Sam was lying down. By the time the car reached the street, both boys were sound asleep.

The drive to Wyoming was almost too uneventful. John wasn't surprised that the boys didn't wake when he stopped for gas and lunch in North Platte; they'd eaten a decently large breakfast, so he just got lunch from a drive-through for himself and let them sleep. But there wasn't even much traffic until a few miles outside Cheyenne. Realizing both that it was rush hour and that he was about to need gas, food, and a chance to stretch his legs, John scouted until he saw a billboard advertising a steakhouse that was just off the highway. He didn't know if they had the money for steaks, but it was better than continuing to fight traffic, so he found the right exit and pulled into the steakhouse's parking lot.

The boys didn't even stir.

Concerned, John reached over to shake Dean, only to stop short when he sensed some sort of magic in the blanket. Then he took a deep breath and yanked the blanket off, which did no more than cause Dean to snuggle more deeply into the pillow that rested between his head and the window. John dropped the blanket on the seat and pulled the pillow away.

"Guh!" Dean exclaimed, waking instantly with a violent start. "Wha'the—whu—where are we?"

"Cheyenne," John replied, dropping the pillow on top of the blanket. "Stopping for supper until rush hour's over."

Dean nodded once, reached back, and pulled Sam's blanket off while John grabbed Sam's pillow. Just as Dean had, Sam woke immediately and sat up once the cursed items were no longer touching him.

"Okay," John said and started to get out. "I'm getting a curse box—"

" _Dad_ ," both boys objected at the same time.

"Those pillows and blankets—"

"Are _charmed_ for protection and good sleep," Dean interrupted.

"Good, _dreamless_ sleep," Sam added. "Azazel can't interfere with my dreams if I'm not dreaming."

Dean shook his head. "Honestly, Dad, did you really think Zanta would want to hurt us? After all the ways she's helped us this past year?"

"But you wouldn't wake up!" John protested.

"You were awake," Sam noted as both boys opened their respective car doors. "You were smart enough to figure out how to wake us. Zanta would have put a time limit on the charm if she didn't think you could handle it."

Dean punctuated that with a raised eyebrow, and they both got out and shut their doors at the same time, leaving John to scramble out after them.

"Steakhouse," Sam was saying. "Think we can afford..."

Dean nodded. "I got a card that'll cover it."

"Awesome."

"Bet they've even got salads," Dean added, shooting Sam a teasing sidelong look.

Sam rolled his eyes, slung an arm across John's shoulders, and marched him into the restaurant without seeming to do so.

Supper was a shockingly normal affair, and after careful observation, John had to admit to himself that the boys did seem better rested than they should have given the length of time they'd slept. It took only a moment's hesitation for him to give Dean's keys back at the end of the meal, and Dean handed his credit card to the waitress before John even had a chance to look at the check, so John decided not to worry about that too much. The fact that Dean covered the receipt with his left hand before signing it struck John as odd, but Sam's suggestion that they hit the head before leaving drew John's attention away just long enough that he couldn't see what alias Dean had used.

Traffic had let up by the time they left the restaurant, but between a crowd at the gas station, a bad wreck in Laramie, and treacherous dirt roads once they left the highway, the sun had just about set by the time they reached Sunrise. "Gives us half an hour before full dark," Dean noted as they got out. "And we've got about half an hour between full dark and moonrise."

Sam looked around at the burned-out buildings on the main road and pointed to one on the northeast side that still looked fairly intact, although the sign above the door was too faded to read in this light. "What about that one?"

"Too flammable," John objected before Dean could respond.

Sam huffed. "Dad, do you see any buildings around here that _aren't_ timber-frame? Let's at least check it out."

"Besides," Dean added, "it's not like Azazel would have a reason to burn the building down unless he _knows we're there_." He shot John a very pointed look before going to the trunk to retrieve a couple of flashlights.

John rolled his eyes and followed Sam up onto the weather-beaten boardwalk, which was surprisingly sound for having been abandoned for 145 years. There were holes in the top of the building's squared false front, but the fabric of the building appeared to be in good shape. As Dean caught up to them, Sam started to open the swinging double doors but stopped short with a quiet "Huh."*

"What?" John and Dean both asked.

"Flashlight?" Sam asked. When Dean clicked on one flashlight and handed it to him, Sam shone it around the door jamb, revealing a line of scratches that was too regular to be random. "Look at this."

John looked more closely. "Ogham runes?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, probably some sort of warding charm." Then he knelt to examine a rusty threshold plate, which was bent upward at the ends to cover the joint between the jamb and the floor, and pointed to a design etched into the metal. "Same here. What do you bet this place belonged to Elkins?"

"Could explain why it's still standing," Dean said. "Tarvek said Colt thought Elkins was a wannabe, but if he'd gotten his hands on some old Irish lore and found that it worked, it makes sense that he'd want to know more."

"You think you could hit Azazel from here?"

"I'll see." Dean handed the flashlight to Sam and paced off the distance to the middle of the street, scuffed something in the dirt with his foot, then jogged back to join them. "X marks the spot," he reported. "You'll want to set up this side of it just to be safe, but not by more'n a foot. I _might_ be able to hit someone on the other side of the street, but better safe than sorry."

Sam nodded and gestured for Dean to turn on his flashlight, and together the three of them made their way into the building. Inside, under a thick layer of dust, they found an old piano, small tables and chairs, and a bar; together with the classic swinging doors, those artifacts proclaimed this space a saloon even without a sign. John thought he could make out words under the dust obscuring the mirror behind the bar, but Dean caught his arm before he could go clean it to see.

"Can't let anything reflect light," Dean replied when John frowned at him. "If any light from Sam's candles gets through the windows at all, a mirror could give us away. Even if Azazel can't see our silhouettes, he'll know someone was in here to clean it."

John sighed. "Okay, that's fair."

Sam, meanwhile, was checking the windows. "They're all warded with iron," he reported. "Looks like this is about the safest place to be."

Dean nodded and checked his watch. "Better get goin' while there's still some light left."

Sam nodded back and left.

Dean then cautiously stepped behind the bar and watched the mirror as he shone his flashlight around the room again. John had to admit to himself that as dusty as the mirror was, the dust didn't obscure the surface enough to prevent reflections completely.

As Dean pondered, John moved a chair over beside the small cast-iron stove that stood in the corner least visible from the bar. "How about here?"

Dean looked, checked the mirror, and nodded. "Closer to the wall if you can."

"Any closer to the wall, and I won't be able to see."

"Won't be able to be seen, either."

"Dean..."

Dean turned to him. "You said you'd stay the hell out of the way. You can sit there or go upstairs to try to find a room with a view—but a demon's night vision is pretty much guaranteed to be better than a human's."

John pushed the chair against the wall and sat down in it with a huff.

Dean came out from behind the bar and walked toward John. "Dad, I'm tryin' to keep you alive."

"How the hell did it come to this?" John growled. "How the hell did we get to the point where my own sons are treating me like some clueless civilian? Benching me, pulling rank, locking me up, taking my booze..."

Dean paused, then came a few steps closer. "Do you remember why I dropped out of high school?"

John blinked and tried to think back. "When was that, even?"

"Spring of '98. Colorado Springs. Right before you went on that ghoul hunt."

"Ghoul—oh. Right." John had tried with all his might to forget that hunt, the grisly end that had befallen Bill Harvelle. He hadn't succeeded, but apparently he'd forgotten something important that preceded it. Colorado Springs... Klaus had gotten wind of a hunt up around Pikes Peak, so they'd left the boys in town and gone to investigate... gotten snowed in... taken forever to finally find the damn monster, halfway to Breckenridge... spent another three days snowed in at a motel in a town that wasn't even on the map... gotten back to Colorado Springs—

Oh, hell. That was the year he'd missed Dean and Gil's birthday. The year Gil had left for college and John hadn't let Dean follow suit. The memory of Dean staring morosely into a bowl of mostly-dissolved cereal and refusing to go to school suddenly came back with startling clarity. So did the memory of Dean's look of wounded resignation when John had taken him up on his offer to start hunting full time immediately.

 _I just lost almost two weeks, and I have no idea how_ , he heard himself say. _If I can't trust myself, and I can't trust Klaus, I need someone else who I_ can _trust to make sure nothing happens to Sammy if I lose it altogether._

Eight years later, what did he have to show for that decision? And how the hell was it _eight_ _years_ later and he hadn't even realized it?

"You told me then," Dean said, "that you trusted me to take care of Sammy even if you went off the deep end. Well, guess what happened in Jericho, Dad?"

John dragged a hand down his face and sighed. Evidently considering his point made, Dean walked over to a chair closer to the door, shut off his flashlight, and sat down to wait.

The really annoying thing was that Dean wasn't wrong. Thinking back on it now, John couldn't even remember what realization had made him panic so badly in October. Had it been connecting the increase in omens around the Bay Area with the date, or with Zola, or with some offhand comment Dean or Zeetha had made about Sam and Jess? Had he imagined seeing a demon pass him at the motel, or at the restaurant where he'd gotten breakfast? Had there been something on the radio, or had the signal been interrupted by static? All he could remember was the overwhelming need to get away from Jericho and warn Dean, tell him to look out for his brother. It may have been the very irrationality of his actions that had prompted him to keep running for so long—it had made sense at the time, but now even he couldn't understand what he'd been thinking.

 _You always get paranoid about exactly the wrong thing_ , Sam had said last night. Maybe he'd been right.

Turning, John craned his neck to see out the window and could just barely make out Sam's shape in the deepening gloom, backlit slightly by the beam of his flashlight. Sam was on his knees in the middle of the street, taking things out of his satchel and arranging them on the ground. He paused, seemingly to take inventory, and then picked up the satchel and carefully shook something partway out of it before setting the satchel down again and starting to set up the summoning paraphernalia.

"Dad," Dean warned before John could ask.

John grumbled and sat back, trying to focus on what he could hear other than Dean's breathing. He could hear Sam making noises as he worked—soft scratching, the _shuffshuff_ of mixing herbs, things like that—but they were practically drowned out by tree frogs and crickets. Owls and other night birds called to each other; a coyote yipped; further off, a wolf howled. John suddenly realized they hadn't brought shotguns in with them. If a wolf or bear or moose wandered into town and interrupted the summoning...

Just then, his own thoughts were interrupted by footsteps on the stairs, followed shortly by Sam walking in. "All set," he announced. "Looks like the western horizon's just about dark."

Dean nodded and stood. "Manifesto?"

"Visible, no fingerprints."

"Good."

John frowned. "What—manifesto?"

Both boys turned to him, looking confused that he was confused. "That thing Henry and Ardsley wrote up this morning," Dean explained in a tone that meant _Where the hell have you been?_

"The document that's supposed to link Azazel's body to the killings in Manning and Cold Oak," Sam added in much the same tone. "I'll plant it on him later if he doesn't pick it up of his own accord, but I can't leave _my_ prints on it."

John sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Sorry, boys. Guess I'm more tired than I thought."

"Yeah, no kidding," Dean replied and turned to Sam again. "Need anything else?"

"Just this," Sam answered, pulled his hex bag out of his pocket, and handed it to John. "Okay, Dad. Don't let go of that, and whatever you do, don't move until I come back in. The slightest sound could give you away."

"You think I don't know that?" John growled. "I'm not a damn civilian, Sam."

"Then quit acting like one." Sam looked at Dean again. "And Dean? Don't miss."

Dean nodded once, and Sam left. Dean followed as far as the door, drawing the Colt and checking lines of fire before settling on a position and resting the Colt's barrel on the top of the door. He cocked the hammer, keeping his finger off the trigger, then took a deep breath and settled himself. Lastly, he murmured something John couldn't make out... and while John couldn't tell whether it was a trick of the darkness because Sam turned off his flashlight at the same time or just what, Dean seemed to disappear entirely. John couldn't even hear him breathe.

There wasn't time to panic, however. John had just leaned back against the wall and quieted his own breathing when he heard the hiss of a match being struck outside. A tiny bit of light reached the back wall of the barroom, growing slightly as Sam lit each candle around the summoning sigil, and the nature noises died down enough that John could hear Sam's soft grunt of pain when he cut his hand, the splatter of blood hitting herbs, the striking of a second match, and Sam's clear recitation of the summoning spell. Then there was a _fwoosh_ , followed by a moment of total, eerie silence before:

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite boy," said an unfamiliar voice that made John's skin crawl. "Howdy, Sammy."

"My name is _Sam_ ," Sam snarled.

"Hey, now. No call to get nasty. You're the one who called me, remember?"

"Oh, I remember." There was a rustle of fabric as Sam stood. "But the fact that I summoned you doesn't mean I like you, Azazel."

Azazel scoffed. "All right, I'll cut the small talk. What do you want? Why'd you decide to come out of hiding now and summon me here, of all places?"

"I want to offer an exchange."

"You mean a deal."

"No. I'm not selling my soul. That's not what I meant."

"Oh? Then what did you mean?"

"Look, I know there's something in this area you want. I'm guessing you rigged up that mess in Cold Oak because you want me or one of the other kids like me to get it for you."

"And? You don't mean to tell me you'll do it."

"If and only if you let the others go, then yes, I'll do it."

There was a pause before Azazel said, "You surprise me, Sam. I wouldn't have thought you'd volunteer for something like this. You're so... _moral_." Somehow he made that last word sound like an insult.

"I'm not happy about it, believe me," Sam returned. "But if it'll save innocent lives, then yeah, I'll do it."

"Save innocent lives, huh? I wonder just how much you really know about what I'm about to ask you."

"I know enough to come here."

"And Dean? John?"

"They don't know I'm here."

Azazel hummed thoughtfully and paused again. "Oh! What's this? A black binder?"

"It's nothing," Sam replied, and John almost bought the nervous tremor in his voice.

"Nothing, huh? Then you won't object if I just take a look." There was a sliding noise as Azazel picked up the binder.

Sam sounded panicked when he protested, "No, really, I—"

"Ah!" Azazel said, cutting him off, and then there was a sound of turning pages. "Well, well, what have we here? Little Sammy's really been doing his homework."

"No, please, that's the only copy I have—"

"Uh-uh. I'll just hang onto this. You do as I say, and I _might_ give it back. You don't, and I'll make sure your dear ol' dad finds out what you've been up to in your off hours."

Sam sighed raggedly. "What about the other kids?"

"Well, now, let's see. You already saved their lives once. You save 'em again, they'll be even more grateful, even more loyal. You might just need a good group of minions if you pull this off. So... sure, I'll let 'em go if you do what I ask."

"Okay. I'll do it."

"You sure? I see a lot of info in here, but I still don't think you know what you're signing up for. Wouldn't want you to hate yourself in the morning," Azazel added with a sneer.

"I don't care what I have to do," Sam snarled. "Twenty lives are at stake. _I'll do it_."

Azazel scoffed again. "Such a fine Christian gentleman you are. All right, here's the deal. Seventy miles that way, there's a cemetery. In the middle of the cemetery, there's a crypt. In the door of the crypt, there's a slot. I want you to put this"—there was a slight rattle as Azazel evidently produced the fake Colt—"into that slot. Can you do that, Sport?"

There was another slight rattle, probably Sam examining the gun in the candlelight. "Colt Paterson 1835. Same model as the gun stolen from Daniel Elkins—same gun?"

" _Very_ good!"

"Besides its age, what's so special about it? I mean, why kill Elkins for it?"

"I can't take credit for that part, but this gun is indeed very special. See, it's the only gun in the world that can kill me."

"Oh, really?" A loud click meant Sam had just pulled the hammer back.

"Oh! Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!" Azazel chuckled. "Go ahead and shoot, Sam—but every one of those kids you're trying to save dies with me."

There was a long, tense pause before Sam sobbed and choked out a curse. "I'm such a failure. All I wanted was to avenge my mom."

 ** _BANG!_**

The report of the real Colt jolted John to his feet as it echoed through the saloon and rang in the strings of the old piano. Hex bag still firmly clenched in his fist, John spun to the window to see Sam silhouetted against the candlelight and staring implacably at Azazel, who was lit from within with orange-yellow light like hellfire as he gasped and collapsed.

"Guess it's a good thing my brother's a better shot," Sam continued with an audible smirk.

Azazel tried to respond, but all that came out was a death rattle before his host's muscles went slack. The light inside him flickered a couple of times and then went out.

The demon was dead. The trap had worked. It was over.

Sam tucked the fake Colt into his waistband and charged up the steps just as Dean, visible once more, pulled open the doors and laughed as Sam hugged him. "We did it, little brother," Dean's muffled voice proclaimed.

"We sure did," Sam returned. "He's dead. I can _feel_ he's dead."

"Yeah? How's it feel?"

"No more itch."

Dean growled in delight and picked Sam up off the ground, making Sam laugh like he was ten years younger. When Dean set Sam down, they mutually broke the hug and turned to John.

"Boys," John choked out. "I... I don't..." Then fatherly instinct won out over everything else, and he rushed forward to hug them both at once. "You did it," he sobbed. "You got him. It's finally over. I am _so damn proud of you_."

They both pulled back, turned on their flashlights, and chorused, " _Christo_."

John snorted. " _Cristo patriarca de carne vestido_."**

The boys exchanged a look, and Dean sighed. "Sorry, Dad. It's just—"

"I know, son. I'll try to do better from here on, I promise."

Dean didn't say anything to that. Instead, he handed his flashlight to John and turned back to Sam. "Gimme your hand."

Sam held out his left hand, hastily bandaged with a bandana. Dean whipped the bandana off and, marriage mark glowing, wrapped his own left hand around Sam's cut palm. When Dean took his hand away, the cut was gone.

Sam nodded. "Thanks."

John decided not to comment. Instead, he gave Sam's hex bag back to him and said, "Let's get out of here before all hell breaks loose."

Dean nodded to him and pushed Sam toward the door. "Get your satchel. Dump the bowl; leave the candles."

"Candles have my prints," Sam protested, but he was already jogging down the stairs.

"I can fix that. Let's go."

Sam snagged his satchel and dumped the silver bowl in the time it took John to get down to the street, and the three of them raced to the car. Dean jumped in the driver's seat, Sam in shotgun, and John in the back.

"Roll up the windows," Dean ordered as they all shut their doors.

John and Sam complied at once, though John had to slide across to the other door to reach the crank for the fourth window. "Done," he reported when he was.

Dean put his hands on the steering wheel and took a deep breath. As he exhaled, his marriage mark glowed green once more, and the wind picked up from the southwest. John had just enough time to register the direction when a strong gust rocked the car, extinguishing the candles and blowing dust and dirt everywhere—especially into the saloon. The wind whistled through the buildings for ten or fifteen seconds; then Dean relaxed with a sigh, and the wind died down again.

"That takes care of the prints," Sam observed, "but what about the tire tracks?"

"One thing at a time, Sammy," Dean replied and started the car.

It wasn't until they'd cleared the edge of town that Sam asked, "Have you always been able to do that?"

"Nah," Dean said. "Just since last night. Wasn't even sure I could, but Zee thought I should try."

"Oh. Huh." Sam paused. "Do we need to start calling you Aang?"

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam snickered and got out his phone. "So—bunker, mansion, Bobby?"

"Yeah. Gil says he and Agatha can call Ellen and Barry after the main call."

"Gotcha. How soon?"

"Eh, three minutes."

"Right." Sam's phone lit up and beeped rapidly as he composed and sent a text.

Meanwhile, Dean drove to the junction of the Sunrise road with another drivable trail they'd passed on the way in. Once there, he turned off and drove a short distance up that trail, parked, and... well, summoned the wind again, apparently. This time a strong west wind whipped across the road, kicking up enough dust to erase the tire tracks.

Sam looked up from his phone as Dean released the wind and leaned back in his seat. "You okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, 'm fine," he replied, sounding a little short of breath.

"You sure? I can drive."

"Nah. Thanks. I can get us to Laramie." Dean took a deep breath, let it out again, and pulled out his own phone. "Okay. I'll call Zee. You call Bobby. Dad, call Klaus."

John nodded and pulled out his new phone, which he'd barely used in the last four months since the kids had gotten it for him. Lucrezia had left his old one in the truck, so naturally it had either perished in the crash with the changeling or been collected as evidence afterward. It took him a moment to remember how to get into the contact list; then he had another moment's pause when he scrolled past Kate Milligan's name. Now that everything was over—but no, he needed to worry about Kate and Adam some other time. He found Klaus' name and pressed Call.

"Well, at least you're calling before midnight," Klaus grumbled by way of greeting.

"Bet you've had more sleep than I have, Gunny," John shot back.

"Sam said you have news."

"Yeah, but I think they want to tell everyone at once." John glanced at Sam for confirmation and got a nod. "Hang on, let me put you on speaker." He just managed to find the right button before the lights in the keypad turned off, and he held his phone forward to meet the boys' on top of the back seat.

"Okay, we got everybody now?" Dean asked. "Can you all hear us?"

An affirmative chorus answered.

Dean grinned. "We got him."

The roar of joy at that statement made John tear up again. For so long, he'd thought of this quest as a purely personal crusade; he'd never dreamed that so many people outside his own family would stand to benefit from it.

"So does this mean we get to go home?" someone at Bobby's asked when the cheering died down, and John stifled a sigh of relief at the confirmation that Azazel had lied about the other kids dying with him.

"Probably," Sam replied. "We don't know how quickly everything will work through official channels, so it may be a few days before Sheriff Mills says you can leave, but it ought to be safe now. But just in case, hang onto your hex bags and amulets for protection."

"Okay, thank you."

"You're getting a motel for the night, aren't you?" Mary asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean answered.

"Well, we'll look forward to hearin' all about it when you get home," Bobby declared. "Reckon we'd better let you boys be on your way."

"Yes, sir," the boys chorused.

"Good night, everybody," Sam added. "Hope you all sleep well."

After a round of farewells, all three Winchesters hung up and put their phones away.

Then Sam pulled a burner phone out of the glove box. "You want to do the honors, Dad?"

John grinned, accepted the phone from him, and called 911. He did a 'slightly drunk tourist camping out' routine—"Think there's somethin' wrong just over the ridge, heard a shot"—and hung up when the dispatcher promised to send someone, then rolled down the window and flung the phone as far into the distance as he could. He rolled the window up again and sat back, feeling oddly satisfied, as Dean turned the car around and headed back toward Laramie.

* * *

.

* * *

* "Frontierland" has given me a headache on this score. The wide shots during the showdown sequences make it look as if the saloon doors are solid, but both the interior shots and one exterior behind-the-scenes photo show only standard swinging doors that don't even latch. Yet there's another photo of the same set, not dressed for SPN, that shows solid double doors that lock! The iron wards are my own invention, however; if you want to square it with "Frontierland," assume Elkins installed them after the phoenix attack (in this AU, Sam and Dean will never make that trip).

** Christ, the Patriarch, clothed in flesh (Spanish, from the carol "Riu Chiu")


	6. Chapter 5: Can't Look at Hobbles

Chapter 5  
Can't Look at Hobbles

Laramie appeared to be one of those towns that rolled up the streets at 9 every night. All three Winchesters were starving by the time they got to town, but practically every restaurant they passed was closed. Dean finally spotted a pizza place that was still open, so Sam ran in to get carry-outs, and then they went on to a motel. Once they were checked in, John took the pizzas while Sam got the satchel and the duffles and Dean brought in his old green Coleman cooler, which turned out to have beer in it.

Only when the salt lines were laid and the boys were about to dig into the pizza did John realize that he'd forgotten to pack a bag of his own. Yet when he looked again at the closet, he saw three duffles there, not two.

"Still had your stuff from Jericho," Dean answered when John turned a confused frown to him.

John blinked. "Still?"

Dean nodded. "Forgot it was in the trunk, actually."

"You mean you cleaned out the room?"

"Why wouldn't we?" Dean popped the cap off a beer and handed the opened bottle to John.

"Took care of Constance Welch, too," Sam added and handed John a small stack of napkins. "She hung on even after you burned her, so we had to take her ghost back _into_ the house to face her kids."

"Yeah, and she came too damn close to killin' Sam."

"Dean..."

"I'm just sayin', dude. Good thing I hadn't given you any longer of a head start."

"Yeah, well, I didn't even get any scars out of it, thanks to you."

"Five holes in your chest wouldn't exactly be sexy scars."

"That's what I mean. Woulda been hard to explain to Jess."

"You mean, harder to explain than what happened to _her?_ "

Sam huffed. "At the time, I didn't expect that _to_ happen. I thought it was just a nightmare."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Lucky for you, none of your in-laws on my side are full human."

Sam snorted.

John didn't have a clue what to say. He'd had no idea he'd left such a mess—literal and metaphorical—in Jericho. Maybe Dean was right that he really had gone off the deep end. What finally came out was, "Thank you."

The boys didn't seem to hear him. Dean was passing another opened beer to Sam, who traded napkins for it. Then Dean opened his own beer, and both boys looked expectantly at John.

There was so much John wanted to say but didn't know how to. It felt like the sort of moment that deserved a huge speech, but speeches had never been his forte. He looked at Dean, then at Sam, then at the beer in his hand. He knew he had to say _something_ before the pizza got cold.

He looked up and raised his beer. "To victory."

"To victory," the boys echoed, and the three beer bottles met in the air with a _clink_ before all three men drank.

"Guess it's time we give thought to the future," John continued as Dean opened the first box of pizza. "Think you'll go back to college, Sam?"

Sam looked startled. "Well, I finished my Incompletes before you came back, so I've got my degree. The next step would be law school, but... I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet."

"Oh. So what will you do, then?"

"Depends on what Jess wants, but I kinda think I'd like to work with Henry and Bobby for a while, finish getting the Men of Letters' library digitized and see about reconnecting with some of their old contacts. I found this file the other day about a group of rabbis called the Judah Initiative that formed during World War II; it sounds like they might have more information on the Thule Society that Saturn Heterodyne was supposed to have been a part of. If the Thule Society is still active, and especially if they're in the States, that's something other hunters need to be made aware of. And maybe Tarvek can convince Gwen to help me get access to the Campbell family archives. Violetta said it wasn't much compared to the bunker, but there's probably information in there that we don't have."

John nodded. "Sensible."

Sam's eyes widened in shock.

"What about you, Dean?"

Dean had just taken a huge bite of pizza, so he shrugged, chewed, and swallowed before answering. "'S up to Zeetha."

"I mean... do _you_ want to go to college?"

Dean paused with his beer halfway to his mouth to exchange a stunned look with Sam. Then he sighed and shook his head. "It's too late for that, Dad."

"Not necessarily. There's no age limit."

"No, that's not—I've already been through all of Gil's notes and textbooks, and Agatha's, and Tarvek and Colette's. Got some from Sleipnir and Ardsley, too, and Ash gave me a few of his books when he was done with 'em. I've learned what I wanted to. Don't think I can learn more just from sittin' in a classroom for four years."

"There's always new technology, new discoveries being made."

"Doesn't change the basics. And hell, that's what smart friends are for," Dean added with a wink at Sam, who laughed. "And the social stuff, the parties and all that? I've had my share with the Adventure Club. I don't need a diploma to prove it."

"But do you _want_ a diploma?" John pressed.

Again Dean shared a look across the table with Sam. "Dad, why the hell does it matter?"

"Son, I never meant for hunting to be your entire life, yours _or_ Sam's. Trust me, your mother and I have had long, heated conversations about it over the last few months. We both want you to be able to get out, to have normal lives, especially now that you're married. With Azazel dead... it's safe for you to want those things again. To have dreams, to have _hope_."

"What about you, Dad?" Sam asked quietly. "What are you hoping to do now?"

John opened his mouth and shut it again. He didn't know. "I, uh. Guess I need to have a long talk with your mom. Being legally dead does limit our options somewhat. But I guess I... hadn't really..."

"Expected to survive?"

"Pizza's gettin' cold, Dad," Dean interrupted before John could do more than glare, then changed the subject.

John ate in silence as the boys chattered about concerts and ballgames and other things they might want to go see—the Grand Canyon, in particular—if the rest of the Adventure Club were up for a road trip before the DuMedds headed back to California so that Theo could finish his medical studies. But somehow the conversation didn't hold John's attention. His mind kept circling back to Kate and Adam. He'd already confessed to Mary that he'd had flings with other women while she was dead, and he thought they'd come to an understanding about that part; but he hadn't told her, or the boys, about Adam because he didn't know what to do about Adam himself. The murders Lucrezia had committed in his skin had been national news, as had the fiery end of the police manhunt, so surely Kate and Adam thought he was dead. Did he risk proving otherwise? Did he dare leave Adam thinking his father was a homicidal maniac? Was it cruel to hide his mistake from Mary and the boys, whether John ever saw the Milligans again or not? Or was everybody better off if he was dead to the Milligans and they to him?

And what _was_ John going to do with himself now that Azazel was dead and Mary was alive? He had everything he'd ever wanted for the last twenty-two years. His sons were grown and married, and as he'd said himself, it was safe for them to get out of hunting and have normal lives now. But where did that leave John? If he no longer had a reason to hunt, should he retire? But if he retired, what would he do? Where would he and Mary go? He couldn't go back to Lawrence, even if he _hadn't_ lost all his friends there except Missouri. (Missouri hadn't known Mary; she wouldn't have been a target of the demons' purge. At least, John wouldn't allow himself to believe otherwise.)

There was Pops to consider, too. Mom had remarried, but she and Dad had died not long after Dean was born. John had gotten used to not having any living relatives left, at least until he'd met Judy Clay. But now Pops was back, and the years were starting to catch up with him, even though he still looked twenty years or so younger than John. John had barely tried to patch things up with Pops, even though they'd lived in the same building for four months. Was there still time to make things right? And what did that even mean under the circumstances?

One thing was for sure. John wasn't going to figure anything out sitting here, half-listening to the boys' banter. This kind of thinking was best done on the open road or with a bottle in his hand. And there was no way in hell he'd get either while the boys were still awake.

About the time he reached that conclusion, the boys started clearing up the remains of their late supper. "Gettin' late," Dean observed. "You want first shower, Dad?"

"Uh, no, thanks," John replied. "Don't think I need a shower tonight. You boys go ahead."

Dean looked at Sam, who looked at Dean for a moment before saying, "Well, I sure as hell need one. That street was damn dusty."

"Shoot you for first?" Dean offered.

Sam grinned, and they did Paper, Rock, Scissors. As usual, Dean chose Scissors and Sam chose Rock. Dean overreacted comically, and Sam laughed and took his duffle in the bathroom.

"Leave me some hot water!" Dean called after him, and when the door closed, Dean snickered.

"Did you let him win," John asked, "or was that for real?"

"What's the difference?" Dean replied with a wink.

John chuckled.

Dean took the last of the trash to the trash can and put a hand to the window briefly. "Guess I shouldn'ta messed with the wind so much," he said as he came back to the table. "Cold front comin'."

"Might not have been your doing," John noted. "You know how the weather is in this part of the country."

"True." Dean went to rummage in his duffle for underwear and sleep clothes to change into after his own shower. "Just hard to get used to, y'know? Not sure what my limits are. 'Course, it's only been a day."

"You think... all that... is a result of what happened last night?"

Dean nodded and straightened, the clothes he was looking for in his hands. "Sammy found a book in the bunker's library, back in November, kind of explains some things. When an angel inhabits a vessel and leaves, a fragment of its grace gets left behind. We figure something like that happens with merge, only... it's not the same 'cause they're part human. The first time we did the four-way, the night Brady attacked Jess, we weren't even merged for a full minute, but I still wound up with a merge-link to Gil and a weaker one to Agatha. This time we were still merged when they used their powers to put out the fire." He paused and looked down at his hands for a moment. "We don't... really understand all of it, but... hell. Not like I wasn't a freak even before I met Zee."

John shook his head. "You're not a freak, son."

"Dad, I'm a fae-touched hunter with a GED and a second-hand Stanford education. And that's before the whole 'Sword of Michael' and 'Righteous Man' business. What part of that says 'normal' to you?"

"All right, so you're not _average_. None of us are. But being average is overrated." Dean scoffed, but John said, "No, I mean it. If I'd wanted to be average, I wouldn't have joined the Marines."

Dean conceded the point with raised eyebrows and a tilt of the head.

"You're a Winchester and a Campbell. That in itself sets you apart, even if we'd never found out about the supernatural. Hell, you got into—where was it, Georgia Tech?"

Dean ducked his head. "Yes, sir."

"Even if I'd let you go—and I see now I should have—that would have made you anything _but_ average. You'd be 'a Ramblin' Wreck from Georgia Tech and a hell of an engineer.' Expect you're a hell of an engineer anyway. I've still got that EMF meter you and Gil made somewhere."

Dean actually blushed. "Dad, we were twelve."

"Almost thirteen, and it _worked_. It's too bad we missed the science fair that year; you two would have won."

That earned John a skeptical look. "Are you sure you're okay, Dad?"

John rolled his eyes. "I told you I'm trying to do better. Maybe it is too late to say these things, but I still need to say them."

"There's no way in hell we woulda won the science fair even if we had stayed long enough to enter. That science teacher hated us."

"What? Why?"

"Probably 'cause Gil kept telling us what the whales were saying in _The Voyage of the_ Mimi."

John snorted.

They talked about inconsequential things after that until Sam came out of the bathroom and put his duffle back in the closet. Then Dean, despite clearly being ready to take the second shower, tried again to convince John to go ahead of him.

John shook his head. "No, really, thanks. I'm good."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "You _sure_ you don't want a shower?"

"I'm sure. You go—"

Something thin and hard pressed against John's right wrist and whipped around it with a telltale _shiclick_. In the time it took him to recognize that he'd been handcuffed, a second _shiclick_ announced that he'd been handcuffed to something—and then he saw that the other cuff was around Sam's left wrist.

Sam smirked when John looked up at him. "No Houdini acts this time, Dad. You're staying here."

John huffed. "Really, Sam—"

"Really, Dad," Dean interrupted with a scowl. "How the hell would we explain to Mom that we let you run off and kill yourself?"

John stared at him. "You— _what?!_ "

"You're still Zanta's prisoner," Sam replied. "The fact that she let you leave the bunker with us doesn't change that. Azazel's death doesn't change that. Until she explicitly releases you, your life is forfeit if you leave her presence without a member of her household with you at all times."

"So you ditch us, you die," Dean concluded.

John huffed again. "And what makes you think that these..." He trailed off when he took a closer look at the handcuffs.

There was no keyhole.

"Zanta gave me this set," Sam explained, his smirk broadening into a devious smile. "Enchanted and unbreakable by any mortal means. She's the only one who can take them off. So you're absolutely not going anywhere without me, and the only place I'm going tonight is to bed."

"Try not to kill each other while I'm in the shower," Dean ordered with a smirk of his own, went into the bathroom, and shut the door.

John shook his head and returned his attention to his younger son. "Sam, I was just—"

"You were just going to go for a drive to clear your head, right?" Sam interrupted, annoyed. "And then stop at a bar to celebrate, hustle pool for a few hours, and then conveniently forget to come home for three weeks, just like old times. Or come home drunk and risk getting nailed for a DWI and blowing the cover Zanta constructed for you, which is the whole reason she put you on a short leash in the first place."

"Sam."

"Dad, if you tried to sneak out, you wouldn't get two steps out that door without dropping dead instantly. You literally owe her your life, and she will collect immediately if you break that bond. That's how fairy deals _work_. Or have you forgotten all the fairy tales Henry read to you as a kid?"

John recoiled as if he'd been slapped. He started to protest that he'd read fairy tales more recently than that, thank you, that he'd read them to the boys himself when they were small. But then he remembered that no, he'd never read Dean anything darker than _The Day Jimmy's Boa Ate the Wash_ , and by the time Sam had been old enough to remember being read to... Dean had been the one doing all the storybook reading and John had become cynical enough not to believe any source that still used the word _fairies_. He hadn't even known about Adam until it was far too late for those kinds of father-son moments. And Pops... well, yes, Pops had read to him from the Grimms and Perrault and Andersen, but after his disappearance, John hadn't wanted to read any of those books again... until... oh, _hell_.

Sam must have seen something in John's face, because he nodded. "That's what I thought."

"They teach you that lore at your fancy college?" John snapped without thinking.

"Yes, actually."

John blinked in surprise.

"Took a few folklore classes as electives. Agatha sort of insisted. And then last spring, one of my classes had a mock trial on May Day, and the scenario was a breach of contract suit between the Summer Queen and a mortal she held under a _geas_. Plaintiff did the one thing she expressly told him not to do, and she turned him into a frog."

"Who won?"

"The Summer Queen, of course. It was a slam dunk. Plaintiff was ready to turn into a frog for real by the time I got done with him."

John laughed in spite of himself. "I can imagine. You tried to turn me into a frog a few times the same way."

Sam huffed, but he was smiling.

"I dunno why we fight so much, Sam. Half the time, I don't even know what we're fighting about."

Sam sat down. "Henry says I remind him a lot of you. Guess that's a big part of it. We're more alike than either one of us wants to admit."

John nodded. "Maybe so."

Sam looked at him for a moment. "Dad... I don't want you dead. You know that, right? I never have, not really. I know I've said some things I shouldn't have, but... you really did have us worried while you were missing."

John sighed and nodded. "Thanks for saying it."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "That sounds like you don't believe I mean it."

"No, I do. I just—" John tried to reach up and scrub at his eyes with his right hand, but the handcuffs stopped him. He huffed. "Can we not do this tonight, please? I think you've already proved your point," he added, shaking his hand to rattle the chain of the cuffs.

But Sam wouldn't let it go. "You just what?"

"Look, sometimes people need to hear things they already know to be true." John used his left hand to scrub his eyes. "Mary's been telling me so for weeks. I'm beginning to realize that she's right. There's too damn much I haven't said to you or your brother, and I still can't figure out how the hell to say it." He paused. "But that's what I meant. Thank you for saying that. I needed to hear it."

Sam's look turned from suspicion to worry. "Dad, are you okay?"

"Dammit, why the hell does everyone keep asking if I'm okay?!"

"You're voluntarily talking about your feelings. That's like Dean deciding to become a vegetarian. It's just... it's not like you."

"I don't even know who the hell I am anymore," John muttered.

Sam raised an eyebrow at that.

"Oh, don't give me that look. Just get the holy water or the salt or the silver. Test me whatever damn way you want." John was not nearly drunk enough for this conversation.

Sam's other eyebrow went partway up as one corner of his mouth did likewise. "I already know you're not a shifter. The cuffs are silver."

John huffed and shook his head. "'Course they are."

"And you crossed the iron threshold of the saloon easily enough, and the wards on the car didn't repel you."

Before John could come up with a retort, Dean started singing in the shower. It was something by Mötley Crüe, apparently, but it took John a moment to figure out even that much because every third note was flat.

"Merge didn't do a damn thing for his voice," John murmured.

Sam cracked up so hard, he nearly fell out of his chair.

That broke the tension enough that John could successfully change the subject, although he held no illusions that Sam was going to let the conversation go for good. Even so, they were chatting much more amiably by the time Dean came out of the bathroom, still wearing the Colt in the shoulder rig over his T-shirt, at which point John realized that he needed to relieve himself.

"Need to hit the head," he announced and stood up before Sam did—and the chain stretched.

"Huh," the boys chorused.

"Try goin' a little further?" Dean suggested.

John took a few steps in the direction of the bathroom. The chain stretched accordingly.

Sam shrugged when John looked at him. "Guess this means I don't have to go in with you."

"Good thing, too," John returned and went on into the bathroom. The chain stretched enough to slide under the door when he closed it, and that plus turning on the exhaust fan gave him enough privacy not only to take care of business but also to examine the cuff more closely. The metal seemed to be fused shut, so there was no chance of getting a wire into a weak point to jimmy it open, and there genuinely wasn't a keyhole on either side. But he wasn't sold on the idea that it couldn't be removed by _any_ mortal means. Maybe he'd be able to figure it out once the boys were asleep.

When John finally left the bathroom, the boys were in bed—one in each bed—and had the TV on. Sam had left one side of his bed turned down and waved John over to it. Knowing he had to at least keep up appearances, John complied. The chain shrank as he closed the distance, stopped long enough to let him get his boots off without too much difficulty, and then retracted the rest of the way as he lay down. The room was fairly chilly, so he didn't hesitate to pull the blankets up over himself. Then he tried to focus on whatever late night movie the boys were watching, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. He relaxed in spite of himself and tried to just listen...

... and Sam yanked the pillow away with enough force to roll John halfway out of bed. Only the handcuffs kept him from hitting the floor.

"Rise and shine!" called a very chipper, pink-cheeked Dean, setting bags that smelled like coffee and sausage and pancakes on the table, which was... lit by sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. And there were snowflakes on Dean's jacket.

Sam laughed as if he'd pulled off a particularly hilarious prank.

"What the—how the—how long did—" John spluttered as he flailed his way to his feet.

"Only eight hours," Dean replied and pulled steaming to-go cups out of one of the paper bags. "Told you there was a cold front comin'. Should be back in the 90s by the time we get to Kansas."

"You used those damn cursed blankets on _me?_ "

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled the blanket in question off the bed to fold up. "Not cursed, Dad. Charmed."

"Why the hell did you—"

"We know you, remember?" Dean interrupted and walked toward John with one of the to-go cups. "You mighta been born in Illinois and raised in Kansas, but you belong in the Show Me State.* You didn't believe us that the pillows and blankets were safe; you didn't believe us about Zanta's deal; and you didn't believe Sam that the cuffs can't be broken. So we've showed you the truth about the pillows and blankets and stopped you from finding out the hard way about the cuffs and the deal. Coffee," he added and thrust the cup into John's free hand.

John sniffed warily before taking a sip. Sure enough, it was plain black coffee and nothing more.

Dean nodded once. "Now, can we have breakfast so we can get this show on the road?"

John sighed. "All right, all right, you've made your point. Let's eat."

Breakfast, which Dean had bought from a nearby bakery, turned out to be delicious, and John had to admit to himself that he felt a lot better than he would have if the boys had drugged him. He still wasn't happy about having been tricked like that, but by the time he'd finished eating and gotten as cleaned up as the handcuffs would allow, he was able to put his annoyance aside and help with the last of the packing. He still left the pillow and blanket for Dean to carry out, which Dean did without comment.

The drive back to Lebanon was surprisingly cheerful, given the need for Sam to sit in the back seat with John. Dean played all of his favorite mixtapes over Sam's token protests, and by lunchtime, even John was singing along. They weren't any closer to figuring anything out, but truth be told, they needed this—just a chance to be together and enjoy doing nothing. They'd had too few days like that as the boys had grown older and none since Sam had gone to college.

Zeetha was waiting at the outside garage doors when they finally reached the bunker that afternoon; once the car was in the tunnel, Dean stopped to let Zeetha in shotgun, and she slid to the middle of the seat to give him a passionate kiss. Sam whistled.

"My demon slayer," she said when she ended the kiss.

"Missed you, Princess," Dean growled and kissed her back.

John cleared his throat pointedly.

Zeetha giggled. "Had to use the handcuffs?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, let her go, and drove down to the garage, where Mary and Zantabraxus were waiting. The inside doors shut behind them as Dean parked. He got out first, opened the back passenger door for John and Sam, and rushed to hug Mary.

"We got 'im, Mom," he was saying as John got out. "I shot 'im for you. He can't hurt you or Sammy anymore."

"Oh, Deanie," Mary replied, hugging Dean back for all she was worth. "It was never your fault. I told you that. You couldn't have stopped it then."

"But I stopped him now. Me an' Sam."

"You did, and I'm so proud of you. Both of you."

Dean finally let go of Mary and stepped back to let Sam get his own hug, which was just as intense but without the conversation.

"Allow me," Zantabraxus interrupted just as Sam stepped back. Sam held out his wrist to her, and she touched the handcuffs, which dissolved into smoke. "Now you may proceed, John."

John nodded to her and walked up to Mary. "Mar, I... I..." At a total loss for words, he grabbed her and kissed her with little less passion than Dean had kissed Zeetha with.

"Oh, _John_ ," she sighed happily when he came up for air.

"So are we in time for the party?" Sam asked Zeetha.

"Party's tomorrow," Zeetha replied. "We've got pie and cake for right now, but we figured the big blowout should wait for the rest of the club to get back from Sioux Falls."

Sam nodded. "Sure, makes sense."

"Even tomorrow may be too soon," Zantabraxus said gravely. "You have indeed achieved a great victory, but Hell's scheme is only set back, not fully thwarted. And there is still the angels' involvement to deal with."

Dean sighed. "Can I at least have some pie first?"

Zantabraxus smiled. "Of course, my son. Come."

They followed her down to the library, where everyone else was gathered with the promised pie and cake as well as ice cream. There was much cheering and handshaking and storytelling and laughter, although what had happened after the hunt was glossed over with a bare statement that "Dad tried to run off a couple of times."

"You know you'll have to tell the whole thing again tomorrow when the rest of the gang gets here, right?" Gil asked Dean as the story wound down.

Dean laughed. "Probably have to tell it fast, if Theo decides to tend bar."

John was just trying to decide whether to claim the last slice of cake when an unfamiliar male voice said, "Oh, sorry, John. Already called dibs."

The library fell silent as John looked up at the stranger who'd spoken: about Mary's height, slicked-back golden hair, golden hazel eyes, and a mischievous face. There was something familiar about this guy, but John couldn't place him.

"My children," Zantabraxus said, "allow me to introduce the archangel Gabriel."

* * *

.

* * *

* For those of you not from the US: the motto of the State of Missouri is "Show Me." (Look it up if you don't believe me.)


	7. Chapter 6: Standoff

Chapter 6  
Standoff

Dean scrubbed wearily at his aching forehead as Gabriel finished explaining the parts of the Apocalypse plan that the Adventure Club hadn't figured out yet. "So basically, we haven't changed one damn thing," he said when Gabriel came to a stop.

"Well, no, I wouldn't say _that_ ," Gabriel replied. "Keeping the Colt off the streets and stopping Azazel from opening the Devil's Gate is huge. Lotta the nasty stuff Downstairs can't get out through any other hellmouth, especially Lilith. That's why Colt built the Devil's Gate in the first place. And as long as Lilith stays in the clink, nobody can pop the lock on Lucifer's Cage—her death is the final seal, and she can't be killed if she's still in the Pit. The _problem_ is that Azazel wasn't the only one invested in this little scheme, and the other players won't just give up now that he's dead. The plan never did hinge on his being alive to see it through to the end—in fact, I'm pretty sure he wasn't supposed to."

"So what do we do? Hole up for the duration?"

Gabriel shook his head. "Wouldn't work. Either they'd starve you out, or Zachariah would get impatient and start meddling. At best, he'd have Uriel wipe out all your friends. At worst, he'd have Uriel wipe out all your friends' great-grandparents."

There was a pause before half of the humans chorused, "As in _time travel?!_ "

"Angels are more than capable of traveling through time and of altering timelines," Zanta confirmed.

Dean buried his face in his hands and swore. Then he realized what he'd said and dropped his hands. "Sorry, Mom."

"Little late for me to be threatening you with a bar of soap now," Mom noted with a rueful chuckle.

"Wait, wait, wait," Sam chimed in. "Gabriel, you said you think Zachariah's trying to force all the pieces into place so Michael thinks there's no other option but to go through with the fight against Lucifer."

Gabriel tilted his head. "Not my exact words, but go on."

"And the other kids like me would potentially all be viable vessels for Lucifer, but for Michael, there's no Plan B. Unless he's willing to make his own vessel, he _has_ to have a Winchester."

Tarvek nodded. "And we hold all the cards there. Every living member of that family line is in this room."

Dad shifted like there was a grass burr in his back pocket. Dean noticed but decided now wasn't the time to press the issue.

Henry looked up from the shorthand notes he was taking. "So what are you thinking, Sam? Convince Michael to make his own vessel?"

Gabriel snorted. "Not a chance."

"Not while we're all still alive," Sam agreed. "But what if we could convince him that Zachariah's plan to strong-arm Dean is against God's will, so it won't ever work?"

"Hmmm. Now you're getting warmer."

Dean stared at his brother. "Sammy, how the hell are we supposed to do that? And what makes you think Michael's gonna force Zachariah to back down just 'cause I'm off limits?"

Sam rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. "Well, we will need to work out a script before you summon him."

"ME?!"

"I mean, he probably wouldn't be willing to listen to me, given... the givens."

"Oh, so what, I'm supposed to hand myself to him on a silver platter?!"

"Mike can't possess you against your will, Dean," Gabriel stated. "The consent issue's not just a fig leaf. If he tried to force his way in, you'd explode."

"Oh, that's a _lovely_ visual, that is," Ardsley muttered.

Gabriel ignored him. "Granted, there are an awful lot of things he could do to you to convince you to say yes, but he's not going to do that _yet_. There's still that first seal that only you can break. You can't break it unless you go to Hell, and like it or not, you won't go to Hell without a deal. What Mike _might_ do, or let Zach do, is kill Sam to convince you to make that deal. So wherever you do the summoning—and I recommend doing it a reasonable distance away from here to avoid giving away this location—Sam shouldn't be there with you."

Dean dragged a hand down his face as Zeetha rubbed his back. He'd faced down a lot of evil critters in his time, but archangels were above his pay grade, especially if he had to do it solo.

"You're not going alone, though," Gil declared.

Dean looked at him, startled. "What?"

"You're _our_ vessel now," Agatha insisted. "Gil and Zeetha and I have just as much right to confront Michael as you do."

"No, no, Ags, he don't need you guys like he needs me. You try to make that claim stick, he'll kill you."

"Not necessarily," Gabriel said slowly. "Not then and there, I mean—Zach's planning to kill everyone anyway, but not all at once. A death here and a death there, spread out over time to wear you down, but getting closer and closer to home until he finally sends someone to kill Sam. Losing everyone else would hurt, sure, but the whole Host knows it would take losing Sam to break you."

Dean cringed and couldn't look at Sam.

Zeetha rubbed Dean's back again. "We can make it harder for Michael. If we go merged, he wouldn't be able to kill us without killing you."

Dean shook his head. "Probably some way he could force you out of me."

Zanta leaned forward. "I can give you a binding charm. I can even tie it to an object that both you and Sam would have to touch to activate and to deactivate the spell. How we would ward it to prevent Michael from removing it yet not hurt you—"

"Leave that part to me," Gabriel interrupted with a devious smirk and waggled his eyebrows.

Dean started to protest again, but Zeetha said, " _Dean_. Our mother is the Warrior Queen. Agatha's great-grandmother is a battle goddess. You know what we can do separately; we've had a taste of what we can do together. We are not letting you face down the Prince of Angels alone and unprotected."

"I've got the Colt," Dean pointed out.

Gabriel shook his head. "There are five things the Colt won't kill. Archangels are one of 'em. Besides, even if it did work, killing Mike won't solve anything. Raphael's even more anxious to make the plan work than Zach is, and unless I go back and knock some sense into him, he's the one who'd step into the void after Mike's death."

Dean grimaced in understanding.

"So why don't you?" Van asked.

Gabriel looked startled. "What?"

"Why don't you go back and knock some sense into Raphael and all the other angels?"

Gabriel sighed heavily. "Van, the last time I really locked horns with another archangel, we accidentally set off the Yellowstone Caldera."

All the humans hissed at that.

"I'm fed up with fighting my brothers. That's why I ditched. I can't go _back_. Even if I did, I'd kill more people trying to make them listen than they'd kill if we didn't fight back at all."

"Then why are you here?" Dad asked.

Gabriel looked Dad in the eye. "Because whatever else I may be, I'm still an agent of Dad's justice, and what Zach and Rapha are doing is unjust. To them, if you're not on their side, you're on Hell's side. Me, I'm on humanity's side. But you guys have a better chance of stopping them with less bloodshed than I do on my own."

Dean wasn't sure whether that statement was meant to be encouraging. He was exhausted and heartsick, and his head was killing him. "So how much time have we got?"

Zanta smiled. "It is not so urgent it cannot wait until tomorrow, my son. Go and rest. You will all have need of your full strength when the time comes."

Dean took that as permission to say goodnight and go to bed, which he did with Zeetha at his side. She managed to take care of his headache, but she couldn't keep the nightmares at bay.

 _I can't ask you to do this_ , he finally told her in the morning.

 _You're not asking_ , she replied firmly. _We're telling. We are not letting you do this alone._

 _Zee—_

 _I know. You want to protect us. Don't you think it's time somebody worried about protecting you?_

He sighed heavily and looked away. He didn't have an answer.

She turned his face back toward her and kissed him. _We love you. We need you. We care about you, even when you don't care about yourself. And besides, if losing Sam would break you, what would losing you do to Sam? That bond between you goes both ways, you know._

That thought gave him pause. _Still don't mean I want to risk your life._

 _You're not risking it. I am. And it's a better gamble than any we've ever taken before._ She ran her fingers through his hair. _You're my consort, Dean. I'd risk everything for you._

Not feeling at all worthy of such love, he kissed her back. It was quite a while before they got up and got ready for the day.

When they finally reached the kitchen, Sam, Mom, and Henry were sitting around the table and talking earnestly. "Bobby called," Sam reported as Dean got coffee and Zeetha filled two plates with pancakes and sausage—it had been Henry's turn to make breakfast, apparently. "Sheriff Mills said the FBI's taken charge of the kidnapping case because it spans so many jurisdictions, and they're moving the other kids into protective custody. Colette's dad pulled some strings, apparently. Anyway, the agent in charge of the case, Henriksen, is supposed to pick them up this afternoon, so Rufus has already cleared out, and Theo and the girls want us to meet them for supper in Beetleburg."

Dean nodded, sat down next to Mom as Zeetha sat next to Henry, and traded Zeetha a cup for a plate. "You talk to Jess?" he asked Sam and cut into his pancakes.

"Called her last night. She's fine. They're all exhausted, but yesterday was a lot better."

Dean nodded again. "Beetleburg. We got that kind of time?"

"We were just discussing that," Henry answered. "Ellen had called right before Bobby did and said Ash had been asking after the five of you."

"Five?"

Henry nodded. "You, Zeetha, Gil, Agatha, and Sam."

"Oh. He say why?"

"No, he didn't—but he is the most vulnerable of us right now, so we think this is a perfect opportunity. Sam can stay at the Clays' to protect him while you four find a place to confront Michael that's well away from here."

"Protect him with what?"

"The fake Colt," said Mom. "Gabriel boosted its power to work against seraphs. Granted, it's only five shots, but he doesn't think Zachariah would send more than five angels against one household. Zantabraxus wasn't certain whether angel warding would have harmful effects on you in the merged form, but Gabriel thought it would be best not to let the angels find out how much information we have anyway."

Zeetha swallowed the bite of pancake she'd just taken. "How are they coming on the binding charm?"

"Almost finished," Sam replied. "It's a bracelet. Your mom said it'll fuse to your skin when it's activated, and then it'll come off as soon as it's deactivated. It won't hurt, but Michael won't be able to just pull it off or cut it off."

"What if he cuts off our arm?" Dean asked.

"Won't be able to. Since your bodies are merged, rather than you being basically possessed by three different spirits, a side effect of the binding charm is that it conveys invulnerability—it keeps you together materially as well as keeping your souls locked together."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Huh. Useful."

Just then, Dad staggered in, still wearing the same clothes he'd had on for the past two days and looking like he'd been on a three-day bender. Dean could smell the whiskey on him as he stumbled past the table to the counter and barely managed to pour himself a mug of coffee without sloshing it all over the place. Mom put her hand on Dean's arm to stop him from saying anything out loud, but he still exchanged a worried look with Sam, and he knew Zeetha heard his mental swearing because she shot him a warning look as well.

 _Where the hell did he find the hooch?_ Dean wondered. _Thought we had it all under lock and key._

 _He must have picked a lock somewhere_ , Zeetha thought back. _You know he's almost as good at it as Sam is._

Not until Dad had guzzled his first mug of coffee and refilled it did he realize that the room was silent. He thunked the carafe down and spun around, mug in hand. "What?"

"You didn't come to bed last night," Mom said, her tone far too mild and casual, and took her hand off Dean's arm.

"Was in the gym," Dad returned and took another swig of coffee. "Wasn't _pokin' into things_ or runnin' away, Sam, so don't start with me."

"I didn't say anything," Sam noted.

Dad grumbled something incoherent and drank some more coffee.

"Would you like some pancakes, John?" Henry asked.

"Not hungry," Dad snapped. "What's the plan?"

"None of your concern."

"The hell do you mean, 's none o' my concern? 'S my sons' lives at stake!"

"You're not going, Dad," Dean stated.

Dad's lip curled. "Oh, I'm not, huh?"

"No, _sir_."

"And why the hell not?"

Dean stood to face him. "Because you're still drunk, you haven't slept, you still haven't showered, you're not eating, and you're in no condition to walk up the stairs to the car, let alone drive or fight."

"So what're you gonna do, chain me up? Drug me?"

"If that's what it takes to keep you alive, you'd better believe I will, _sir_."

Dad glared at Dean, who glared right back. Then Dad snarled, drained his mug, threw it in the sink so hard it bounced, and stormed out.

Dean started to follow, but Mom caught his arm. "Let him go, Dean. Finish your breakfast."

Shaking his head, Dean sat down. "He's gonna do somethin' stupid. I know he is."

"But you know what he's like when he's drunk," Sam countered. "We can't reason with him, and anyone who tries to stop him is liable to end up with a shiner."

Mom sighed. "Not that he's much better when he's sober. He's less likely to throw a punch, but that's about the only difference."

Henry cleared his throat. "I know it's a delicate subject, Mary, but—"

"He never hit me. Raised his voice, yes. Punched the wall, yes. Walked out for days at a time, yes. But he never hit me, and he never hit the boys while I was alive—I mean, before that night in '83."

Dean very carefully didn't look at Sam. It wasn't like Dad had made a habit of hitting either of them, even when they were teens; Dean knew enough horror stories from the _really_ abused kids they'd met on their travels to know the difference between Dad and, say, Joan Crawford. Most of the instances Sam had referred to had been times when Dad had gotten into it with Klaus or Bobby. But there had been a few training accidents that seemed less accidental in hindsight, and the rare times Dad had in fact hit Dean on purpose—usually because Dean had stepped between him and Sam—had been scary enough that even though Dad had apologized afterward, Dean had done everything in his power to keep them from happening again. Not that Sam had ever learned that lesson before leaving for college.

Henry wasn't stupid, though. He clearly understood what nobody at the table was saying, and he sighed heavily. "All I can say is that he didn't learn that behavior from me."

"He did the best he could," Dean said reflexively.

"I know that, Dean. And I know neither your mother nor I could change the past if we tried. Maybe that side of John would still have come out even if I had been there to raise him myself. It had to come from somewhere; alcohol can't bring out something that's not there. I just... wish things had gone differently, for everyone's sake."

"So do all who live to see such times," Zeetha quoted quietly but didn't go any further. They'd watched _Lord of the Rings_ recently enough that everyone at the table knew Gandalf's point: _All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you._

Before the conversation could continue, Ardsley came down the hall and called, "Dean?"

"Yo," Dean called back.

Ardsley poked his head in the door. "I say, old man, I think your father's taking a shower with his clothes on. Is he quite all right?"

Sam guffawed, and Mom rolled her eyes and went to take Dad some clean, dry clothes.

By the time Dean and Zeetha had finished breakfast and armed themselves, Sam and Henry had walked them through both the summoning ritual and the arguments they needed to present to Michael. Gil and Agatha met up with Sam, Dean, and Zeetha in the hall outside their bedrooms and reported that they had gathered all the materials for the summoning in a satchel Agatha was carrying. From there, they went to one of the labs, where Zanta and Gabriel had just finished the binding bracelet, which looked like it was copper or brass and was etched with wards so fine that they were barely visible to the naked eye. Dean put it on his left wrist while Zanta gave them instructions on how to make it work, but then Gabriel herded the two couples outside while Zanta gave Sam the actual spells required.

Once the lab door was shut, Dean took a deep breath and let it out again. "Think we can really pull this off?" he asked Gabriel.

"I dunno," Gabriel admitted. "I'd like to say yes, just because it seems like you muttonheads are the only ones in the world who _could_ make a plan this crazy work. I mean, nobody would have expected Gil and Agatha to be able to take out Cody Senear and Silas Merlot the way they did; nobody would have expected the four of you to be able to save Jess and Ash. If anyone can do this, it's you guys. But the timeline's in flux. I can't be sure. We've prevented the worst possible outcomes, but that still doesn't mean it won't go wrong somehow."

Gil nodded. "But at least we can call on you for backup, right?"

"Oh, no. Leave me out of this. Mike will recognize Zanta's touch on you, but the less he knows about my involvement, the better. Besides, those hex bags you carry hide you even from me. You'd have to tell me exactly where you are if you prayed to me, and that's not exactly easy in the heat of the moment."

Sam and Zanta came out of the lab just then, so the five travelers took their leave and went to the library to say goodbye to everyone else. Dad wasn't there, but Mom said she'd seen him go into their bedroom after he'd finished in the shower and thought he might have gone to bed, so Dean decided not to disturb him and just get on the road.

They got to the Clays' house in Beetleburg just after noon, and since Adam was at work and Ellen had gone to run errands, Judy had Dean park in the garage. Ash was asleep when they arrived, so the family ate lunch downstairs and caught up on news before going up to the guest bedroom.

Judy led the way and knocked quietly on the doorframe. "Ash?"

On the bed, Ash stirred. "Yas'm?"

"You have visitors."

"Sam'n'Dean?"

"Yeah, dude," Dean replied, and Judy stepped back to let everyone else file into the room while she went back downstairs. "How you feelin'?"

Ash groaned. "Ain't felt this bad since I had mono in junior high. Ellen says it's normal with heat stroke, but it just feels like my damn batteries won't charge."

Dean nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed. "It'll get better. At least you're alive."

Ash smiled weakly. "Yeah. Thanks to y'all."

"Heard anything about the Roadhouse?"

"Gonn' take a while to fix everything, but the servers is all okay. They's far enough underground, it didn't get too hot for 'em. Lost the admin station an' my laptop, though."

"We can replace those," said Agatha. "Maybe not the data, but the hardware for sure. Two computers are a lot cheaper than a life."

"True."

Sam closed the door and came closer to the bed. "Ellen tells us you've been asking for us."

Ash nodded. "Been havin' nightmares. Ain't like I got the Sight, but... had to see y'all were okay. Been wantin' to check on Jo Beth, too, but... cain't hold the phone to m'ear, an' I cain't tell Ellen where she is. She made me promise."

"Where is she, then?" Zeetha asked.

"Bunch o' girl hunters come through a few months back, last time Jo was home. Most of 'em's from India, looked like. Leader had one o' them dot things—"

"A bindi?"

"Yeah, only hers ain't just a red dot. 'S a skull. Says she's workin' for Kali, huntin' demons."

"Bangladesh Dupree," Gil growled.

Dean turned to him. "You know her?"

"Not personally. Dad's told me about her; they've worked together on a few hunts. I'm not sure if John was with him or not. Dupree's a psychopath—good tracker, but she's trigger-happy, kills anything or anyone who gets in her way."

Ash sighed and nodded. "'S what I thought. Tried to warn Jo, but they said they'd show 'er the ropes, an'..." He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "She'd got word there's a ghoul nest up in Minnesota somewheres. I tried to tell her it ain't the same bunch that et her pa, but she wouldn't listen. All's I get now is a text ever' week or so, lettin' me know she's okay."

"Dammit, Jo," Gil muttered.

"So it's worse than Tarvek thought," Agatha concluded.

Gil nodded. "I don't doubt that Dupree will keep her alive and unharmed, at least in the sense of hospital-worthy injury. But it won't surprise me at all if Jo comes back with pink hair, a dozen tattoos, and a mass of scars inflicted by Dupree herself—to say nothing of what she'll have learned about the fine art of torture and murder."

Dean sighed and turned back to Ash. "Well, maybe Sammy can help you talk some sense into her while the rest of us go try to talk some sense into Michael."

"Mi—the _archangel?!_ " Ash yelped.

"Ash, it's the only way we'll get the angels to call off the Apocalypse plot."

Ash closed his eyes and swore bitterly.

"We're comin' back! We have to—we're supposed to meet Theo and the girls for supper over at Gil and Agatha's."

Ash opened his eyes and glared at him. "An' how the hell am I s'posed to know it's _you_ when you come back?"

Dean exchanged a look with Sam. They hadn't thought about that part.

"We need some kind of security code," Sam suggested, "something you'd say that Michael wouldn't, like..."

"Lynyrd Skynyrd?" Dean offered, remembering that he'd once said Ash looked more like a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie than an MIT student.

Sam shrugged. "Works for me. Ash?"

"Better'n nothin', I guess," Ash replied with a grimace. "Ain't happy 'bout this nohow."

"Well, hell, dude, neither am I," Dean returned. "But like I said, it's our only shot."

Ash huffed. "Well, you keep them purty ladies safe, y'hear?"

"More like they'll be keepin' me safe," Dean said with a wink at Zeetha.

Zeetha nodded. "Damn straight."

"I'll be right back, Ash," Sam said as Gil opened the door. "There's one thing I have to help them with before they go."

Ash nodded and closed his eyes again. Dean patted his shoulder and stood, and the five of them trooped back down to the kitchen table, where Agatha had left her satchel hanging on the back of her chair.

"Should we do this in here or out back?" Agatha asked as she picked up the satchel and slung it over her shoulder.

"In here's probably safer," Zeetha noted. "No sense scaring the neighbors."

Dean nodded. "Good point."

Gil nodded back. "So. You ready?"

Dean blew the air out of his cheeks. "Yes."

The merge was even easier this time, but Dean kept their eyes closed after their form settled, taking a moment to focus on his perception of the vessel space. Zeetha was in shotgun this time, with Gil and Agatha in the back seat; he could sort of see the merge-links running from himself to each of them. But the red brother-bond still went straight out the driver's window and disappeared.

 _I wonder_ , he thought.

 _We can't take him with us_ , Zeetha noted. _That wasn't the plan._

 _I know. I just wanna see if it'll work._ Before anyone could stop him, Dean pulled gently on the brother-bond.

And Sam suddenly appeared outside the window. _What the hell?!_ he gasped.

Dean grinned. _Hey, Sammy._

Sam bent down to look inside the 'car.' _What—am I dreaming?_

 _Not exactly. You're seein' inside the merge._

 _Huh. Wow. Awesome._

 _Can you get in?_

Sam looked down, then along past Gil, and shook his head. _Not from here. There aren't any door handles._

Dean nodded, a little disappointed but not surprised. _Well, now we know._

 _Yeah._ Sam looked inside again. _This is seriously what it looks like?_

 _Well, it does to us, anyway_ , Gil chimed in. _Not sure how much is our own perception and how much is Dean's._

Sam nodded slowly. _So, uh... how do I get_ out _?_

Dean let go of the brother-bond and opened their eyes to see Sam, supported by Judy, shaking his head and trying to regain his footing. "Sorry, dude," Dean said. "Didn't think it'd do that to you."

"'M fine," Sam insisted and braced himself on the back of a chair.

"What _did_ you do?" Judy demanded.

"Tried to add me to the merge," Sam replied before Dean could. "It didn't work. I'm all right, though, seriously. I just need a sec."

Suddenly reminded of when Sammy was just learning to walk, Dean put a steadying hand on his head and gave him a short healing burst.

Sam blinked and looked up at them. "Um. Thanks."

Dean couldn't hold back a fond smile—the height difference between them hadn't been this great since Sam was twelve. "Welcome."

 _We'd better get going_ , Zeetha said.

 _Yeah_ , Dean agreed, took their hand off Sam's head, and held out the wrist with the bracelet. "Let's do this," he said aloud and put their right index finger on the metal band.

Sam pressed his own index finger on the bracelet and uttered the activation spell. Power raced through the merged form, and Dean almost thought he heard the clack of the Impala's locks all being pushed down at once.

"How's it feel?" Sam asked as Dean blew out a breath.

"Secure," Dean replied and examined the merged wrist. The bracelet had sunk into the olive skin, but it didn't hurt; it just looked like a copper strip of skin with turquoise runes on it.

Sam nodded and grinned. "Great. Awesome. So, uh... what should we call you? Winbach? Wulfchester? Dezeegamesh?"

Agatha giggled.

Dean huffed. "Let's worry about it later, Sam. Not like we're plannin' to stay like this."

Sam's smile dimmed, but he nodded. "Yeah, okay. See you soon."

 _Where should we go?_ Dean asked his passengers.

 _Badlands_ , Gil suggested. _Nobody around there for miles, and Michael's more likely to think we've gone there from Bobby's or from Cold Oak._

With a mental nod, Dean focused and jumped to a deserted box canyon surrounded by stark walls of striped rock. Setting up the summoning was a little like working with a child's tea set, but he managed not to fumble anything too badly. Rather than trying to strike a match, though, he let Zeetha light the herb mixture with her own power. When the flames died down, they found themselves looking down at a balding white man in a grey suit, his soul overlaid by something else that glowed blue; Dean got the faint impression of six wings and four heads, but he couldn't quite make them out.

"Well," the newcomer said snippily. "This is a fine time for _you_ to crawl out of the baseboards."

Dean frowned. "You're not Michael, are you?"

The newcomer puffed up his chest like a pigeon. "Nope. Zachariah."

"I didn't summon _you_ , dirtball. I want to talk to your boss."

Zachariah scoffed. "Like this? You're an even bigger abomination than your brother."

"Bigger, badder, and deadlier, and that's rich comin' from someone who's been workin' with demons."

"Oh, please, like working with Heterodynes is so much better."

"A Heterodyne is a far cry from a Prince of Hell," Dean shot back and mentally hugged Agatha. "Besides, she's my cousin. What's your excuse?"

Zachariah's borrowed eyes glimmered with feverish madness. "By working with one demon, we'll rid the world of _all_ demons. You're a hunter—you should recognize the potential in that. Michael will defeat Lucifer once and for all. We'll rebuild the earth as a paradise!"

"Paradise for who? Way I hear it, you think humans are scum."

Zachariah's lip curled. "Why, you insolent—"

"Zachariah," interrupted a familiar voice laden with unfamiliar power. "Let me handle this."

Zachariah gulped. "But Michael—"

"I said let me handle this. That's an order."

Zachariah bowed low and vanished. Dean turned... and all the carefully prepared speeches went out the window when his fear was realized. There stood Dad, his back too straight, his shoulders too squared, and his soul overlaid with blue.

"Get out of him," Dean demanded.

Michael smirked. "I didn't know it was yours to command me."

"How the hell did you even find him?"

"The fragment of grace left behind in a vessel when the angel vacates it creates a permanent connection between the two. I sensed your father's concern when he learned that you planned to confront me without him, a concern that prompted him to hide himself in the trunk of your car. Once the four of you left the house in Beetleburg, the hex bags' protection was sufficiently lessened for me to reach him."

"Wait, you've possessed him before?"

"Yes, in 1978. A rogue angel attacked your parents, attempting to thwart the Apocalypse by ensuring that you and Sam were never born. Obviously, I couldn't let her succeed."

"And he said yes to you again?!"

"He did. I promised I'd fix one of his greatest mistakes if he let me use him to talk to you."

"Do you realize—"

"You're concerned about the fairy's claim on his life, aren't you? Don't be. My claim is stronger by right and prior by date, and besides, there was no point at which John was not under the same roof with one of you before he said yes to me."

Dean drew Zeetha's swords. "You let him go and find some other way, or I'm gonna ram the Apocalypse down your throat."

Michael manifested a sword of his own. "Bring it on."

Dean attacked. The bigger body wasn't quite as easy to handle as his own, but he was fighting with the combined skills of four people, which helped. So did the prior experience of sparring with Zanta. But Michael was still an archangel, which meant the merged family's greater height provided no advantage. The rocks rang with the clash of steel and the shouts of the opponents for several long minutes. Finally, backed against the canyon wall, Dean trapped Michael's sword between Zeetha's and, after a moment's struggle and with a mighty yell, shoved Michael back with enough force to slam him into the opposite wall.

"Enough," Michael gasped. "Enough. I know what you want. Let's make a deal."

 _Can't hurt to hear him out_ , said Gil.

"I'm listening," said Dean.

Michael nodded. "Go to Mekkhan. Kill the goddess. Give me her head. I'll call off the Apocalypse."

Dean frowned. "Give my dad back first."

"Oh, no. I'll keep him as collateral. If you kill Dynamis or agree to play ball, I'll return John to you alive and unharmed. Otherwise, I'll still need a vessel if Zachariah succeeds in freeing Lucifer."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm a _good son_. My Father decreed that Lucifer must die, and die he shall. But I admit, it will be easier if I have my true sword."

Dean told him precisely what he could do with himself.

"Tch. Such language. Do you accept my terms or not?"

Dean closed his eyes and turned his attention inward. _Guys? Agatha?_

In the back seat of the vessel space, Agatha bit her lip. _From what Van has told us, Mekkhan needs to be dealt with anyway. They're still sacrificing at least two people a year to the goddess, and there are probably tons of ghosts to be laid, plus the Black Heterodyne and whatever other monsters are hiding in the family crypt._

 _Do you think Van will be okay with it?_ Zeetha asked.

 _His family won't_ , Gil replied. _But I think Van himself will. At least he'll understand what we're trying to accomplish._

Dean opened their eyes with a sigh. "All right. We'll go to Mekkhan."

"Very well." Michael pushed himself away from the canyon wall.

"Wait, at least let us say goodbye!"

Michael smirked again. "That wasn't part of the deal. But you'll see him again— _if_ you kill Dynamis." And he vanished.

Dean stared at the crack left in the rock where Michael had struck it, too stunned to move. Then he swore loudly and jumped back to Beetleburg, landing on their merged knees behind the Clays' kitchen table with a crash.

Sam was still in the kitchen, talking on the phone with someone, but stopped in mid-word. "Dean?"

"Lynyrd Skynyrd," Dean gasped.

Sam pushed a button on his phone, set it on the counter, and ran over to the merged family. "Mom's on the phone. Dad's not in the bunker. They can't find him anywhere."

"Michael's got him."

" _What?!_ " Sam and Mom both gasped.

 _Phone's on speaker_ , Gil realized.

Dean choked out the short version of what had happened. By the end of it, he was sobbing. He was somewhat embarrassed—he _hated_ crying, especially in front of Sam—but then again, he was currently half girl.

As Dean finished, Sam sighed raggedly and pushed his bangs back out of his face. "Guess that explains the earthquake that hit here a few minutes ago. Almost threw Ash out of bed."

Dean nodded.

After a pause, Mom said, "It's not your fault, kids."

"Like hell it's not!" Dean snapped. "Didn't I say at breakfast Dad was gonna do somethin' stupid? We shoulda locked him in the dungeon while we had the chance."

"It would not have held him," Zanta's low voice came over the phone's speaker. "John was determined to protect you from Michael, even at the cost of his own life, and he had warded himself thoroughly against fae magic last night before turning to drink. We could not have stopped him, even if we had discerned his intent."

Merged shoulders slumped.

"For your sake, I will accept the technicality of John's remaining with you as being within the letter of the conditions of his bond. I will not hold his life forfeit for this folly."

Dean nodded. "Thanks."

Sam touched the merged family's left wrist and raised his eyebrows when Dean didn't respond right away. Dean looked down and belatedly remembered the binding charm. But he couldn't bring himself to move.

 _Dean_ , Zeetha said gently. _You need to let us go._

 _I don't know if I can_ , Dean replied. _After what happened to Dad..._

 _And keeping_ us _hostage is better?_ Gil interrupted.

 _Not hostage. Safe._

Agatha leaned forward and put her hand on Dean's shoulder. _We'll work better on figuring out how to kill the goddess if we can do our own research separately. You need to let us go._

Sam shifted his hand to wrap most of the way around the merged wrist and turned the puppy eyes on full blast. "Dean, losing Dad is bad enough. I need my brother back."

Dean sniffled. "Okay, Sammy."

Sam nodded and moved his hand to where Dean could put their own finger on the binding charm. Then Sam uttered the deactivation spell, and the family unmerged, leaving Dean to topple forward into his now-bigger little brother's arms, crying again.

"I think we'd better stay here for tonight," said Gil. "Here in town, I mean, at our house. I don't think Dean's in any condition to drive."

"I guess so," Agatha agreed with a sigh. "I just... killing a god would be difficult even if it was one that had resorted to taking its tribute by force because it didn't have worshipers. Dynamis still has an active cult. What do we _do?!_ "

"Get some rest, first of all," said Judy.

"Definitely," Mom said. "We'll have a lot of research to do, a lot of consultation with Van, and we'll need to figure out who's going to Mekkhan and how. Unless Gabriel takes you, you're bound to need passports, and that takes some time, even for fake ones. Even if you left Beetleburg now, I suspect you'd all be too tired to start working on it tonight."

"It was a pretty tough fight," Zeetha admitted, running her fingers through Dean's hair.

"Yes, it would be," said Zanta. "To fight an archangel to a draw is no mean feat. You did well."

"We'll see you in the morning, then," Mom concluded. "Good night, boys." And she hung up.

Sam rubbed Dean's back. "It's not your fault, Dean," he whispered. "It was Dad's choice. We know where he is this time; we know what we have to do. We got him back from Lucrezia. We'll get him back from Michael."

Dean nodded because he knew Sam meant that pep talk as much for himself as for Dean. Personally, though, Dean wasn't at all sure that they would succeed.

* * *

That night, Michael quietly entered a house in Windom, Minnesota, where a sandy-haired teenaged boy tossed fitfully in his sleep.

 _You wouldn't dare!_ John raged.

"Relax, John," Michael murmured and placed a hand on the boy's head. "I'm not going to harm him."

The boy jolted as a burst of angelic power flared through him, but as it passed, he relaxed fully, and his breathing became deeper and more even as he sank deeper into sleep. Michael released him and moved to the master bedroom, pressing two fingers to the forehead of the boy's mother and altering her memories. Then he went to the center of the house and snapped his fingers, replacing John's image in a handful of photographs with the image of someone John didn't recognize and erasing all lingering traces of John's presence in the house.

"There you are," Michael stated softly. "Adam Milligan is no longer your son. I couldn't take him as my vessel now if I tried. And I believe Jo Harvelle and Bangladesh Dupree are about to eliminate the one remaining threat to their lives."

 _I don't believe you_ , John growled. _Why would you get rid of your own potential vessel?_

"Why not? I told you I'd fix your mistake. And besides..." Michael turned to a nearby mirror with a smirk. "I already _have_ a vessel, don't I?"

And before John could respond, Michael returned to Heaven, taking John with him.


End file.
